“Why would anyone want to let a fallen one in?” Sterlave asked, returning his gaze to the frozen land. He hoped the vision of ice would help cool the heat that suddenly rose within.
“Faubens possess great powers,” Enovese said.
That didn’t sound good to Sterlave. “What kind of powers?”
“There are many tales and myths.” Enovese’s reflection in the glass shrugged delicately, causing her robe to slide over her pointed nipples. “However, the powers seem to depend on a combination of the fauben and the host.”
“They enhance what you naturally have?” Sterlave asked the question from somewhere because he was lost in the thought of what her naked breasts looked like.
“Yes and no, they take what the host naturally possesses and turn it to their own use. Faubens do not share with their host. Once they have control, they will push the human out, sending him to drift in the nothingness.”
“Then why would anyone invite them in?” Chur and Sterlave asked the question simultaneously. Glancing at each other, they both realized the other was aroused. Sterlave expected Chur to dart his glance away, but he didn’t. He held Sterlave’s gaze, penetrating into him, conveying not only acknowledgment, but also encouragement. Convinced he’d read the signal wrong, Sterlave quickly looked away.
“Arrogance,” Enovese said, teasing her hand along Chur’s back. “There are always those who think they can control the fallen one.”
Arrogant described Loban perfectly. Sterlave had never met a more conceited, overconfident man in his life. There had to be an explanation. One didn’t become self-important for no reason. What happened to Loban to craft him that way? He considered the question while trying not to notice that Enovese was now teasing her hand along Chur’s ass. Not to be outdone, Chur lowered his hand from her shoulder to her breast. Repeatedly, he twisted her nipple between his thumb and forefinger. Each time he did, Sterlave felt the motion along his own body.
Mesmerized, Sterlave watched them fondle each other through the glass and with his peripheral vision. The darker it became outside, the more clearly he saw their reflections.
Sterlave stood and observed, not certain if he should leave. Chur answered the question for him when he turned, facing his back to the glass, and cupped his hand around Sterlave’s straining bulge.
Shock froze him to the spot. Chur’s hand wasn’t just warm, but hot and massive. He knew just how hard to hold and press his stroking fingers through the fabric. The weave was thin enough that Sterlave could feel the moist heat of his touch, but too thick to let him feel his amazing caress directly.
Enovese watched him for a moment, then stood on her toes to whisper something in Chur’s ear.
Chur’s touch became more aggressive, apparently at Enovese’s suggestion. Sterlave throbbed with sudden painful need. He wanted to feel more than just Chur’s hand; he wanted to feel his mouth. Lust clamped around his hips, demanding release, screaming for more than contact through clothing. Sterlave wanted to make Chur feel and taste his flesh.
Enovese deftly removed Chur’s loincloth, exposing his golden cock. Sterlave gulped at the sheer commanding size of him. He couldn’t help but watch how expertly Enovese teased her fingertips under the most sensitive skin where the shaft met the head. Each brush of her fingertips swelled him harder and turned him deeper gold. Without missing a beat, she turned and slid Sterlave’s loose-fitting trousers down. Now, Chur mimicked in perfect synchronicity Enovese’s strokes on his cock to Sterlave’s. It felt as if Enovese stroked him through Chur.
On a deep breath, Sterlave thought of stepping back. They shouldn’t be doing this. They were his friends. And Kasmiri would be devastated. Every time he tried to leave, he discovered he couldn’t. His legs simply wouldn’t move him toward the door.
Sterlave didn’t know what to do with his hands, but as Enovese pressed herself into Chur, her hair sparkled over the length of her back, falling to her calves. Beautiful harvest-colored tresses compelled him to reach out and bury his fingers in the strands. Soft as astle, he lifted a hank to his nose to breathe deeply of her scent. Feminine musk assaulted his senses, compelling him to move closer into the circle of their bodies.
With a better angle, Chur was able to pull his prick with firmer strokes, working him more skillfully than Sterlave had ever handled himself. How could Chur know what he liked? He had to be using his god-given powers because his touch was utterly divine.
When Enovese removed Sterlave’s hand from her hair and wrapped his fist around Chur’s cock, it was as if she’d closed a circuit. Fire erupted within his body, consuming all his attention as he marveled at the smooth, heavy weight of Chur’s golden shaft.
Encouraging them both to continue, Enovese stepped back, melding into the shadows of the room as if she had never even been there. Chur dropped to his knees and looked up. Beautiful blue eyes, the exact color of an intense summer sky, peered up the length of Sterlave’s heaving chest. Black hair, still short from his recent shave for the Harvest, dusted his head.
“This is what you want, isn’t it.”
It wasn’t a question, which was obvious when a single drop of moisture pearled at the tip of Sterlave’s cock. He wanted this. Nothing could compel him to step away now. He wanted Chur’s firm lips wrapped around his aching prick. Deep into his throat, he wanted to push and then to hear Chur choke while he sucked down every last drop.
Sterlave shook his head at the violence of his need. He didn’t want to hurt Chur. Something within pushed at his mind, forcing him to turn his attention back to Chur waiting so patiently on his knees. All he had to do was grasp the back of his head and pull him forward. Resisting caused a throbbing pain behind Sterlave’s eyes.
“Worship me and he’s yours.”
When Sterlave looked into the glass, seeking the owner of the voice, he saw Loban’s face as he’d looked before his transformation.
“Kneel to me and I’ll make him kneel to you.”
Repulsed by the very idea, Sterlave took a great step back while screaming, “No!”
Chur lifted his brows and retracted his hand, which held a small glass. All he’d been doing was offering him another drink. Chur wasn’t on his knees. He wasn’t naked and hard. Chur was standing at the window looking at him as if he’d lost his mind.
“What happened to you? You drifted off into your own thoughts for a moment.” Chur handed the cup to Enovese, who placed it on the table near her scattered pages.
“He’s trying to get to me. He’s sending visions into my mind.” Sterlave shook his head, desperate to drive the last of the wicked thoughts away.
“Lusty visions,” Enovese said, nodding to his bulge.
When he looked down, a large wet spot darkened the front of his trousers. Embarrassed beyond words, Sterlave turned away.
“It’s not your fault,” she said softly. “And now we know what kind of fauben Loban has welcomed into our world.”
Holding his breath, Sterlave entered Kasmiri’s rooms. When he discovered she wasn’t there, he exhaled. Now was not the time for a confrontation with her. In order to banish the creature Loban had unleashed, Sterlave needed a unique weapon.
Only Rown could help him fashion it.
He’d argued against the idea from the start, but Enovese showed him proof in her pages. “Loban is what you felt in your vision: Lust. Lust without conscience, lust without honor, lust without tenderness. To fight him, you must use the opposite.”
Unable to think clearly with his erection still pressing against his pants, Sterlave asked, “What’s the opposite of lust?”
“Passion.” Her gentle smile radiated a purity that entranced him.
Frowning, Sterlave said, “I thought passion and lust were the same thing.”
“Lust is mindless in its need. Passion is mindful in its longings.” At his baffled expression, she continued, “Lust causes one to take by force, passion causes one to persuade.” After a moment, she tried again. “Lust cares not who is hurt as l
ong as wants are met. Passion dies if hurt is involved.” She paused for a moment, considering Sterlave with her speculative gaze. “The vision he forced on you involved forcing another, yes?”
Gritting his teeth, he nodded. Sterlave didn’t want to think of that hallucination again. He felt doubly guilty because the scenario was one he’d thought of all by himself, with no help from a perverted creature. Of course, in his version, Chur was acting of his own free will.
“You stopped because you would never force another to give you pleasure.”
“Of course I wouldn’t.” His tone was rather defensive.
“That is how you are different from him. You are filled with passion, and it knows no bounds, but you would never give yourself over to your lust, because that would involve hurting another.”
Sterlave understood what Enovese was trying to say but still didn’t see the true difference. “I lust after Kasmiri. The things she does…”
“You feel lust but temper it with your passion. Lust isn’t a good or bad thing. Lust simply is. How one twists their lust is what turns it good or bad.”
That made more sense to Sterlave. “I feel lust, but I control the extent of it.”
Enovese nodded rather wisely, as if pleased he’d finally understood what she’d been trying to teach him. In that moment, he remembered that she was a paratanist, one destined to die a virgin and live her life hidden behind the cowl of her robe. However, they also taught the Harvesters all they needed to know. She was a living, breathing book. How brave must she have been to show herself to Chur? Lust must have compelled her, but passion gave her strength. Once he understood that, her lesson became clear.
After he called out for Rown, Sterlave took another deep breath. He would need strength to prepare for battle, and he would need passion to win. He fought for the empire he’d sworn to protect, but also, even after what she’d done, he fought for Kasmiri. He didn’t know why she’d done Loban’s bidding, but he didn’t think she’d been willing. As he waited, he only hoped that Rown would understand.
Rown entered, his face breaking into a wide smile when he saw Sterlave standing there alone. When his gaze dropped to his moist trousers, he offered a modified pout. “I will fetch you fresh clothing—”
“Wait.”
Rown turned, his uplifted brows awaiting instructions.
Sterlave didn’t even know where to start. “I need your help.”
Darting his gaze around with some trepidation, Rown whispered, “Is Kasmiri here?”
“No.” Sterlave hesitated. “Does it matter?”
With a shrug, Rown said, “I don’t think she wants me helping you that way when she isn’t here.”
On any other day, Sterlave would have laughed. Today, he flashed only the barest of smiles, and asked, “What if I helped you that way?”
Immediate excitement brightened his features, but then Rown’s face fell. Not the reaction Sterlave was hoping for.
“You know I can’t.” Black hair tumbled down, covering his soft blue eyes, shielding his gaze. Slumped shoulders conveyed his disappointment.
Four long strides brought him near. Rown flipped his head back, his eyes wide with longing and fear. “I’m not going to hurt you, but again, I need your help. I need you to trust me.”
Rown’s frown turned down the edges of his quivering lips. When a lone tear tumbled from his eyes, Sterlave took a step back with his hands lifted.
“No, not that, not what he did. That’s not—” he cut himself off. Determined to find another way, he dismissed Rown.
However, Rown didn’t leave. “I do trust you. I just don’t understand what you’re asking of me.”
Sterlave explained as completely as he could. “The man who hurt you, Loban, when he hurt you, he allowed a fallen one, a fauben, entrance to our world.”
“I was his offering?” Rown shuddered at the thought.
Sterlave nodded, grateful that he seemed to know some of the mythology. “The only way to stop him now is to…” he trailed off, unsure how to explain. “We need to reverse your offering.”
Fondling the edge of his crimson sash, Rown peered up at him. “How would we do that?”
Sterlave offered out his hand. When Rown accepted, he drew him over to the couch where they’d talked earlier. Once they settled in, with Rown’s knee tentatively resting against his, Sterlave explained what he wanted to do and why he thought Rown’s sacrifice would work. Rown listened with an open mind, which was all Sterlave could really hope for, since he asked for an incredible gift. When he finished, they sat there silently for a long time.
Rown stood with the dignity of a warrior. “I will do as you ask.” In that moment, Rown matured. He was not a servant forced to act, but a man deciding for himself. “What Loban stole from me, I will grant to you.”
After bathing, then anointing himself in scented oils, Rown knelt before a statue of the ungati god. Sterlave didn’t know the god’s name, but his thin face was serene as he knelt, gazing upward with one hand over his heart and the other over his crotch.
Nude, Sterlave sat behind Rown, placing the cirvant beside them. When the time came, Rown would lift the short sword into position. At the moment, Rown professed.
Using a low, repentant voice, Rown admitted to every lusty thought he’d had since the last time he’d professed. Sterlave blushed. Most of Rown’s wayward thoughts were about his mistress’s consort. In an effort not to embarrass him, Rown called him that, rather than using his name, even though they both knew whom he was talking about. Dressing him, cleaning his clothing, watching him eat—everything Sterlave did prompted a sexual thought in Rown. Flattered as he was, Sterlave also remembered when he was Rown’s age and everything gave him sexual thoughts, even such mundane things as the baker shaping dough caused odd flickers in his nether region.
Sitting cross-legged, Sterlave waited patiently behind Rown. Once Rown finished listing his transgressions, he began the laborious process of strocating, or ritualistically touching his genitals to bring forth his release. Rown explained the act took quite some time, which Sterlave thought he was ready for; however, he grew bored as Rown brought himself to arousal with only two fingers from his right hand and three from his left.
Peering over his shoulder, Sterlave watched how intricately his touches worked the entire genital area. Actually, Rown was hard before he started, but he still had to perform the strokes in order. Sterlave was certain he was responsible for Rown’s arousal even before he heard his profession. When he’d undressed, Rown didn’t try to hide his probing gaze. When Sterlave glanced at him, he smiled shyly but continued looking. At least Loban had not ruined his bashful sensuality.
Rown was slight but strong. Underneath his plain brown robe lurked a surprisingly well-formed, mature body—narrow hips, broad shoulders, long legs, and a short but thick cock nestled in curly black hair. Sterlave wondered if he shaved or if the rest of his body was naturally devoid of hair. Unlike Sterlave himself, Rown wasn’t awkward in his nudity. He moved about with easy grace.
For a servant, he had a spacious but mostly bare room decorated entirely in beige. Thick rugs softened the wooden floors, and clear lighting crystals lined the ceiling—luxurious modesty. Rown was a servant, but he served the empress. A narrow bed took up one wall, a small bathing unit another, shelves with various devices took up the wall with the door, and the fourth was a shrine to his god.
“I am close,” Rown said, leaning back into Sterlave’s waiting arms. Rown’s voice did not hold the frantic tone that Sterlave expected. If Rown was on the verge of climax, he controlled it well, which Sterlave thought was rather the point.
Wrapping his arms around him, Sterlave pulled Rown into the hollow created by his crossed legs. Rown’s body was slick from the oil and cool from the air. He felt small against Sterlave’s bulky frame. Once settled, Sterlave leaned back so that Rown could lay flat as the ritual required.
“Let his hands be my hands.” Rown cupped Sterlave’s fingers around
his cock. Shockingly hot, Sterlave marveled at how soft the skin of Rown’s shaft was, and how sensitive. The barest brush of touch pulsed blood deep, twitching him. To Sterlave, this made sense since Rown was not allowed to touch himself except for this ritual. His body must be starved for contact. True to his station, Rown did not buck or groan. This wasn’t tawdry pleasure; this was an offering to a god. Sterlave took it just as seriously as Rown. He didn’t think of lust or pleasure, he thought of the passionate devotion Rown had for his god. With Rown’s hands upon Sterlave’s, he moved him through the last of the strocation.
“Accept my sacrifice, Behdera. Accept my seed in service to you.” Rown lifted his hands and placed the curved sword against his belly. Placing his hands over Sterlave’s again, he stroked all five fingers from base to tip three times, then wrapped his entire right fist around his shaft while cupping his balls with the left.
Contractions jetted Rown’s climax across the blade of the cirvant. Sterlave simply held on, keeping the pressure in his fist tight, but not too tight. Apparently, he’d gone too loose because Rown wrapped his hand around his fist, squeezing firmly. When Sterlave tightened his grip, Rown nodded. Unlike Sterlave’s orgasms, Rown’s went on and on. Every pulse jetted more fluid, but his balls seemed to have an unlimited supply. Even in his youth, Sterlave had not ejaculated such copious amounts. He thought at best they could coat the edge of the blade, but when he looked down, there was enough to make the entire sword wet.
When the last of the contractions faded away, Rown gently released his hands from Sterlave’s. Careful not to jostle him in his sensitive state, Sterlave lifted his hands away, then removed the weapon from his belly. Together they sat up, returning Rown to his knees.
“Please, Behdera, let my offering anoint this blade so that Sterlave can banish the one who forced me to betray you.”
Dark Harvest Page 26