Strongman

by Denise Rossetti

  Griff gurgled, a noise that like sounded like a curse. Abruptly, Fort was holding something more like a fellwolf than a man. The tumbler rammed an elbow into his gut, stepped on his bare instep and threw off his grip with shocking strength. He whirled into a knife fighter’s crouch, a naked blade in each hand, eyes blazing.

  Stunned, Fort stared. Griff bared his teeth. “Why the fuck won’t you listen? I may not be the size of a bloody mountain, but I told you, I can—”

  “—look after yourself,” finished Fort. Sweet Lufra! Eyes locked, they stood, a little breeze fingering Griff’s shirt, playing with Fort’s hair. That strange new steadiness stirred again in his chest.

  “Perhaps you can.” He shrugged and his lips curved in a savage, joyous smile. “But you still have a lesson to learn.” He took a pace forward. “Drop the blades, Griff.”

  The tumbler flushed. “Sorry. It was reflex.” He straightened, lowered the blades. “I wouldn’t have used them, not on you.”

  “I know,” said Fort in a deep rumble. “Drop them.”

  But Griff stepped aside and placed the knives carefully on a rock, laid aside his sword belt. “I, ah, have others.”

  “I can imagine. How many?”

  Griff shrugged. “Ten altogether, give or take.”

  Fort’s eyes narrowed. “Lose the shirt.”

  After a moment’s hesitation, Griff hauled it off over his head, revealing his strong chest, crisscrossed with leather straps and snug scabbards, a similar arrangement bracketing each muscular forearm. “Lufra’s tits,” breathed Fort, as the other man unbuckled and unwound. “You’re a walking armory.”

  “Not usually,” said Griff. “But out here…” He shrugged.

  “Good idea. I always carry a knife in my boot. Boots too, Griff.”

  The tumbler’s eyes flickered down to Fort’s bare feet. Propping himself against the rock, he hauled his boots off. His chest rising and falling with his quick breaths, he stood. “We’re even now. What do you think you’re going to do, strongman?”

  Ten knives. Holy Lufra, ten. He shot a glance at the rock. Only eight. Suddenly, Fort recalled a hot whisper in his ear. “Remember the razor.” True, he didn’t believe the other man would cut him, but no sense in giving the little shit the slightest advantage.

  “You scared me, Griff. I didn’t like it.”

  “Well, you’re a fool. There was no need.”

  Fort continued as if the tumbler hadn’t spoken. “So you’re going to pay. Drop the trews.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me.”

  “Why?”

  “Do it or I’ll do it for you and it won’t be pleasant.”

  Griff snarled, but he pushed the trews down and kicked them off. Fort’s eyes were drawn to that terrifying scar on his hip, as always, and to Griff’s genitals, nestled in the golden-brown fur between his muscled thighs. His gaze traveled down the graceful athlete’s legs to the daggers sheathed against the other man’s calves, his thighs. His brows rose. “You lied. That makes an even twelve.”

  Griff grinned, bending to unstrap the harnesses, all long fluid muscularity. “I said I could take care of myself.” He added the weapons to the pile on the rock and turned, spreading his legs and putting his hands on his hips, completely unabashed and unbearably beautiful.

  Suddenly, the first Hssrdan slave camp he’d seen filled Fort’s vision, as vividly as if it had been yesterday. But this time, he saw Griff’s lithe, perfect body there too, broken and bleeding, desecrated in ways so horrible he wished he had no knowledge of them. The red wave of fear and fury returned, rolling him under. On the very periphery of his consciousness, he heard Griff’s voice say. “Play fair, Fort. You too.”

  A long low growl rumbling in his chest, he ripped his trews off and hurled them away. Then he leapt.

  Fort’s massive naked body hit Griff like a runaway vran, bearing him to the ground with a thud that had the breath whistling out of the smaller man. Fort gouged a hard knee into the muscle of the tumbler’s thigh and wrapped long fingers around his throat. As he squeezed, he leaned down beside Griff’s ear. “I should put you over my knee and spank you,” he hissed. “Like a naughty child.”

  Under him, Griff made a choking sound of sheer fury. His body heaved and bucked, but Fort simply increased the pressure. A flurry of blows to his kidneys made him grit his teeth and his hold slackened for an instant. Griff surged up, all sinew and finely tuned muscle, turning the tables more swiftly than Fort could credit.

  “Oh yeah?” Griff panted, locking a powerful leg around Fort’s knees, immobilizing his lower body, while he grabbed his wrist, twisting it at a painful angle. Only instinct and years of training had Fort reacting in time, placing a hard palm under the other man’s chin and shoving with all his strength.

  Griff’s hold broke and he rolled away. Fort came up to his knees and they glared at each other, chests heaving. Ruler God, it wasn’t going to be so easy after all! A bubble of some strange feeling forced its way into Fort’s throat, emerging as a hoarse chuckle. He shook his head to clear it, a fierce joy suffusing his soul. “Two falls out of three?” he offered.

  Griff’s teeth gleamed. “I said I’d take you on, Fort.” His dark gaze scorched the length of the big man’s body. “Naked.” He licked his lips. “Winner takes all, first fall. Agreed?”

  Fort’s growl would not have disgraced a fellwolf. “Agreed.”

  Griff laughed. Then he kicked Fort’s bad leg out from under him.

  The battle raged across the glade, startling the vranee into nervous hoots, demolishing Fort’s tent, rolling them through the warm ashes of the fire so that both sweaty bodies finished up streaked with soot. What the tumbler lacked in heft, he made up for with flexibility and sheer guile. He was as slippery as a sewersnake and twice as cunning. Trying to sandwich Griff’s writhing body between his own torso and the trunk of a tree, Fort faced the astonishing possibility he might lose. Every time he thought he had the bastard in an unbreakable hold, he got away. The other man was completely unpredictable. He didn’t fight by any rule book Fort had heard of. It was all desperate, dirty stuff, interspersed with amazing feats of athleticism he couldn’t match. Too big, too old, too slow.

  Winner takes all. Ruler God, what would Griff do to him?

  Dark excitement rose and his pulse thundered in his ears. Concentrate, you fool, concentrate.

  Griff hooked his ankles, tripping him so they rolled together, grunting and punching, muscles tensing, the spicy scent of crushed daisies rising all around them.

  Every now and then, Griff gasped out a laugh, or a swear word. Once, he nipped Fort’s earlobe, the sensation sharp and stinging. Twisting Fort’s arm up behind his back, he hissed in his ear. “I was born for this.”

  When Fort forced him away with sheer muscle, he sank back, fluid as water, but as he went, he gasped, “Born for you, Fort. For you.”

  Holy Lufra! With a roar, Fort reared up and slammed Griff down to the turf, near the rock where they’d started. Before the tumbler could wriggle away, he grabbed one of the knife harnesses and wrapped it around Griff’s right wrist. It took him several minutes of determined, profane effort to secure the other one, but he did it, his knee in the small of the other man’s back. Completely winded, he sat back, and used a second length of leather to double tie Griff’s wrists together for good measure.

  Then he simply bent over, sucking in air.

  “That’s cheating.” Griff lay quietly, his cheek pressed to the grass, a sprig of goddess daisy waving cheerfully beside his ear. His mouth curved. “But you were desperate. I forgive you.”

  “Shut up.” A pause. “You were asking for it.”

  Winner takes all.

  “And now you can give it to me, can’t you?” One dark eye peered at him. “Still angry?”

  “Yes. No. Shit, I don’t know.” He placed a palm on the back of Griff’s thigh, feeling the sheen of sweat, the warmth of the firm flesh.

  “You won. What are you
going to do?” Griff lifted his hips and settled gingerly back into the grass. The warmth at the base of Fort’s spine returned with a vengeance, spreading to encompass his balls, spilling into his cock.

  Winner takes all.

  Fort stared at the tumbler’s body stretched full length among the daisies, at the strong sweep of his spine, the muscled buttocks and long, lithe legs. “You’re bleeding.” He peered at the grazes on Griff’s shoulder blade.

  Griff huffed with laughter. “That was the tree, remember?”

  Fort drifted a finger down to the bruises flowering on Griff’s hip, his thigh. “I hurt you.”

  “And I hurt you.” The tumbler raised his head and grinned. “I hope.” The grin faded and he rolled over, a little awkward because of his bound hands, muscles sliding beautifully under his skin. His cock bounced against his ridged belly, proud and rosy. “Fort, I’m fucking dying here. What are you going to do?”

  Fort’s throat had turned to sand. “We said…” he wet his lips, wishing desperately for a drink, Aetherian brandy for preference, “winner takes all.”

  “Yes.” Griff sat up and leaned his shoulder into Fort’s. His hair brushed the big man’s cheek, catching on the stubble. “There’s no one to see or hear,” he said in a ragged whisper, “only the two of us. You won. I’m yours. For whatever you want.”

  Fort couldn’t think, couldn’t get past the tangle in his stupid head. He couldn’t seem to keep his hands steady either. What if a Hssrda patrol had taken him, taken Griff—? The thought stalled because he literally couldn’t bear to complete it. And he would never have— Would never have known what it was to possess him utterly, to take all that he offered.

  Fuck the Ecclesiastical Court. If this was Crookedness, too fucking bad. He didn’t give a shit anymore, not from the moment he’d looked into that empty tent and his guts had turned over. Fort cleared his throat. “All,” he said hoarsely. “I want it all.”

  Griff sagged against him. “Traveler be praised.” He rubbed his cheek against Fort’s shoulder. Fort turned, burying his hands in the other man’s hair, pulling his head up so he could sink into his mouth and ravage. Gods, he’d missed him! Missed him so much that having him again was a sweet ache, an agonizing pleasure.

  Continuous growls rumbled in Fort’s chest until he became so breathless, so absorbed in the heat, the wicked duel of tongues, that the sounds died away to ragged gasps. Gradually, he pressed the other man back down to the cool grass.

  Griff’s cock burned against his belly and Fort reached down for the hard, hot satin of it, his hand so big he could almost envelop it completely. The tumbler groaned into his mouth, arching.

  “Saddlebag,” he panted. “Outer pocket.”

  “Not yet.” There was so much he hadn’t done, hadn’t tasted, and it lay before him, helpless and willing. He nipped his way down Griff’s throat, disciplining himself not to take great greedy bites. With an open palm, he brushed over the hair on the tumbler’s chest, the heel of his hand catching a hard nipple. When Griff gasped and swore, he swooped and took it in his mouth, savoring the leap of the other man’s heart under his cheek, the way the little disk engorged and rose under his lips. In his other hand, Griff’s shaft bucked and he squeezed it gently. Wait, wait, I’m getting to you.

  And gods, Fort knew he couldn’t get any harder himself. His balls had practically crawled right up into his body, they were so swollen and tight.

  Griff was writhing, pushing himself into Fort’s hand, his hips jerking with an instinctive rhythm. “C’mon, man, c’mon. Please.” But when Fort slid down his body to lie between his thighs, he froze, holding his breath.

  Fort slipped one hand under Griff’s hips, aiming the tumbler’s cock with the other. Without giving himself time to think, he swallowed it to the root. Griff’s helpless groan of pleasure got mixed up in his mind with the musky taste of aroused male, hard against his palate. Delicious. So addictive, he had to hear it again. And again.

  He gripped Griff’s buttocks with both hands, raising him, holding him tilted at the perfect angle. He suspected he was being too rough, but he couldn’t seem to slow down, to stop. His fingers flexed, kneading warm, resilient flesh, while his lips and tongue applied hot, wet suction.

  The noises Griff was making took on a complementary rhythm, getting faster and faster. “Yes! Twister, yes! Oh gods, oh fuck!” His hips bucked so hard, it became difficult to hold him still.

  Fort wrenched his mouth away, his heart pounding. He raised his head and Griff’s eyes met his, glazed with lust. “Finish me,” the tumbler demanded in a grating whisper. “Gods, don’t stop!”

  Chapter Eleven

  The seat of sexual pleasure is in the mind. This is the one incontrovertible fact no shaman or priestess may be permitted to forget.

  Precepts of the Lady Chelisand, High Priestess of Lufra.

  “Yes.” Feeling dizzy, Fort lurched to his feet. Saddlebag, where was the fucking saddlebag?

  “Over there.” Griff indicated the surviving tent with his chin.

  Later, Fort couldn’t remember how he got there or back. His memory picked up as he stood frozen over Griff’s beautiful aroused body, the little pot of ointment lost in his big hands.

  Shit, he was going to, going to…

  His father’s hands on his shoulders, forcing him to look.

  “Fort,” said Griff, glaring, “if you stop now, I swear, I will kill you.”

  Fort shook his head, speechless.

  One golden-brown brow arched. “Still scared, are you, strongman?”

  The memory slid away, overwhelmed by the urgency of the present. “No,” growled Fort, dropping the pot. “Fuck it, Ruler, no!”

  He launched himself at Griff, driving him into the ground with the weight of his body. The younger man grunted with the impact, but one knee rose high over Fort’s hip, and his mouth opened for the big man’s tongue. His pelvis rose, grinding his cock against Fort’s.

  Long minutes later, Fort forced himself to pull back. He hung over Griff, braced on his hands. The tumbler smiled, showing his crooked tooth. “Do you know what to do?”

  Fort grinned, wild and fierce. “I can guess.”

  “But you haven’t done it before?”

  “Not to a man. But oh yes,” he showed his teeth, “I like a nice tight ass.”

  Griff swallowed hard, his sloe eyes brilliant with excitement. Holding Fort’s eye until the last possible second, he rolled over, his luscious ass thrust up so the taut curves were limned with sunlight, the golden down gleaming like the skin of some exotic fruit. “Use plenty of the cream,” he panted. “On both of us.”

  Fort leaned down and nipped the underside of one buttock, only the years of engrained discipline enabling him to hold back. The urge to sink his teeth right into the resilient, muscular flesh was almost too much.

  Griff groaned. “Do me, man! Gods, just get on with it!”

  But Fort set a hand to his shoulder, another under his thigh and heaved. Griff flipped over, his eyes opening wide with surprise.

  Fort shoved his thighs open and knelt between them. “If I’m going to…” he dried up, then rallied, “fuck a man, then by all the gods, I’m going to look him in the eye while I do it.”

  Grabbing the pot from a clump of daisies, he scooped up a fingerful of ointment and slathered it over Griff’s asshole, ignoring the tumbler’s gasps and curses. Then he lifted his gaze to Griff’s tormented face. Breathing heavily, he worked a broad forefinger around the puckered opening, pumping the other man’s cock with his free hand.

  “Bastard!” panted Griff, his hips rising to the uncompromising caresses. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

  “Gods, yes!” Fort inserted his finger a scant inch, feeling the dark walls of the other man’s ass grab at it.

  With no little degree of surprise, he realized it was no more than the truth. He’d expected the hunger. After all, where Griff was concerned, it had been his constant companion from almost the first moment.
But he’d thought the act itself would be dark and furtive, thick with shame. Instead…he flexed his shoulders and probed a little further…torturing Griff with pleasure gave him a sensation of soaring joy, a feeling that he controlled the world and everything in it.

  And yet, it was dirty, what he was doing. Surely it was? His fingertip brushed a small swelling and Griff cried aloud, his body curving up in a beautiful bow, his shaft kicking hard under Fort’s palm.

  Sweet Lufra, who cared? He’d worry about it later. Fort abandoned introspection and gave himself to the pleasures of the flesh, free as a randy boy.

  He added another finger and Griff gurgled, sweat popping on his brow. “Just you wait—” His dark gaze, blazing with lust, caught Fort’s.

  Fascinated, Fort massaged the small gland and watched Griff writhe, his balls jammed up hard and tight into his body, his cock jerking, shivers rippling over his muscled abdomen.

  “Aaargh! Twister! Wait…wait ‘til I do that to you.”

  A sizzling wave jolted from Fort’s balls to his cock. The base of his spine tingled and his head reeled.

  Now. Ruler God, now! Before he died. Or worse, spurted over his belly and disgraced himself.

  He smothered his rampant erection in the slippery stuff and pulled Griff’s thighs open over his. Leaning forward, he set his broad head to the dark entrance of the other man’s body and pushed.

  A moment’s resistance and the tumbler’s flesh spread to let him in. With a long groan, Fort sank into glorious gloving heat, the walls of smooth, silky muscle twitching against the sensitive skin of his shaft.

  Griff bit his lip and moaned. He’d gone so pale, every freckle showed on his cheek.

  Fort braced himself on his fists, holding himself motionless with a tremendous effort of will. “This is what you wanted,” he panted. “You said…my cock rammed so far up your ass you’ll think you’re going to die.”

  “I know.” Griff grimaced, his breath rasping. “And you’re not even close yet. But it’s been a while.”

  “Shall I stop?”