by J. C. Owens
Before his thoughts could return to his incipient panic, he felt Torin pass him a wrapped package, and the smell of fresh baked bread made him drool with anticipation. He ripped the cloth off, tearing into the fragrant treat, smothering a moan as he realized it was a thick sandwich, succulent thin cut meat slices with rich cheese and tomato added.
He wolfed it down, famished, finishing it in mere moments, letting out a small sound of joy as Torin passed another one.
“I think we should save the others,” the general said quietly, and although Aidan could quite happily have consumed half a dozen more, he nodded reluctantly, licking his fingers clean of every last vestige of the food once he was done.
“You keep that up, and I can’t promise you will make it to the camp unmolested.” Torin’s tone held wry humor, and Aidan paused, pulling his finger out of his mouth abruptly, flushing to his very toes.
“Sorry, sir.”
He felt Torin settle more comfortably down, obviously having finished his own meal, and a muscled arm curled over his waist, pulling him back against a hard toned body.
“It’s fine, my boy,” the chuckle was deep and vibrated into Aidan’s body, making him shiver in response. “I just think that both of us could use some sleep.”
Aidan nodded, and wondered if it was normal that he felt disappointment. He had thought that with their escape that any physical connection between them was over, and yet… The way the general spoke did not seem to point to that.
He relaxed against the warm form behind him, enjoying the closeness. His eyes began to drift closed almost against his will, and strangely, despite their situation, he felt safe.
* * *
He woke suddenly, stiffening as he realized that Torin’s hand lay over his mouth, the general himself rigid and tense.
Aidan’s muddled mind slowly made out voices and his eyes widened in realization. They had been stopped by guards, if what he was hearing was correct. If they searched the wagon… His fingers slid down to his belt, to where the small, but deadly knife lay.
He could hear Nyton’s voice, realizing that the man must have come with them, with his son driving. The farmer sounded placating, calm. His voice held nothing but a weary tone that indicated that he very much wanted to reach his destination, and now there was a delay.
Aidan listened, wanting to indicate to Torin that he could remove his hand now, but not wishing to make the smallest move that could give away their position. He tried to thrust away the pleasure he felt at the firm touch and wondering if it was natural to want to lick the palm pressed over his lips. To taste…
He hastily brought his thoughts back to the situation at hand, flushing. There was danger outside their small haven, and he was fantasizing about the general, again.
The argument seemed over and Aidan had just begun to relax, when something punched through the tarp right in front of before his face. Before he could even draw breath, it was drawn back and he heard it puncture behind them. Torin flinched minutely, the faintest of indrawn breaths making Aidan’s heart begin pounding with dread.
Whatever had come through the tarp had struck the general.
He wanted to explode upwards, fight, anything other than lay here and wait for another deadly thrust that could kill them.
Torin’s hand tightened upon him, warning…
The restraining hand was now a godsend, for his breath had sped up, until he was almost panting, and only Torin’s hold prevented him from reacting, from his harsh breath being heard without their small shelter.
Nyton’s voice spoke up, sounding bored, and the object, perhaps a spear, withdrew.
The harsh voices of the guards sounded once more, muffled through the hay, and then the wagon, blessedly, began to move once more.
Aidan was shaking with reaction, and he drew a great breath as Torin released his mouth.
They did not speak, waiting.
Sweat rose on Aidan’s brow, and he longed to turn, to check Torin himself, to see what injury he had taken. The need pounded in him, but he must wait for the general’s signal. The older man had much more experience, and he had followed him this far. He would not make a mistake now by going his own way and ignoring Torin’s guidance.
The wait pressed upon him, and he fought to breathe more evenly, to bring his panic down to manageable levels.
At last Torin released him, and Aidan rolled carefully and slowly, terrified he may injure the man further by careless movement.
“My lord? Where are you hurt?” He tried to sound calmer than he felt.
“The back of my thigh. Just grazed I think.” The rigid body and tense tone seemed to say it was worse than that, but Aidan could hardly argue when he could not see the damage.
He reached out, unable to help himself, and found Torin’s face in the darkness, sliding down to hold his cheek, needing to touch, to assure himself…
“I am fine,” Torin touched him in return, a gentle caress over his hair. “Once we stop, I will get you to bind it up and it will be fine. Stop worrying.”
“You are hurt. I cannot help it.” Aidan’s tone shook a little and he fought to bring it back under control. Torin did not need to be burdened with his companion’s emotions.
“You have a good heart, my friend.” The general’s voice was fond, his touch sinking into Aidan’s hair and rubbing his scalp deliciously.
His heart faltered, then resumed with greater speed.
Friend. Torin had called him friend. Even if Aidan wished to be much, much more, the honor of such a statement warmed him, made him blink back unmanly tears. No one had ever truly stated such a thing before, except for his childhood companions, who had been coached on the matter.
This—this was truth, from a man he greatly admired. More than admired, though there was no purpose in pursuing such emotions.
If friend was what he could be to this great man, then friend he would accept.
* * *
The wagon finally stopped, a great blessing in Torin’s opinion. He sighed, letting his body relax from its rigid tension, from where he had been bracing himself to prevent the wound from hitting the box pressed up behind him.
He hoped it was not more serious than he had first assumed, because he could feel trickles of blood dribbling down his skin and the pain was rising, instead of dulling down with time.
He gritted his teeth, thanking the gods once again for their blessing. It could have been so much worse. His heart had near stopped when he heard the spear strike right before Aidan. His own wound seemed of lesser importance than that moment he had heard the boy’s indrawn gasp and thought him hit.
Pulling Aidan closer, he breathed in his scent, laying a quixotic kiss upon his forehead. He felt too much for this young man, more than was wise in any situation, much less the one they found themselves in.
In the future…
He grimaced. What future they held at this moment was insecure indeed. Now was not the time to hope or plan, they had to get out of this first of all. When he was back with his men, back in charge, then he could work on this. Whatever “this” might be.
He leaned into Aidan’s gentle touch upon his face, feeling the worry almost pulsing from the younger man. It was pleasant, this intimacy, in a way he thought he had lost…
Thrusting thoughts of Amadan aside, he basked in the warmth of Aidan’s caring. He had denied himself such pleasures for so very long, and now he grasped it with the desperation of a drowning man.
This boy could save him. Something within him knew that, longed for it with great intensity. The tiniest bit of hope unfurled within him.
Perhaps there was something waiting in the future other than dire responsibility and lonely leadership.
For now, he would keep Aidan close, until circumstance gave them time to build something more than this tentative intimacy. His fingers curled around Aidan’s hair, clenching for a moment. The boy was his and he would show him that, so that he never doubted, never wished to leave…
Th
e wagon creaked, and moments later the hay was hastily piled aside. The tarpaulin was withdrawn, and they could see Nyton’s concerned face, his son carefully helping to keep the straw away from them.
Sweet, fresh air swirled over them, and they both drew in great gulps of it, feeling like they would never get enough. The stale heat beneath the protective layers had worn upon them both, leaching their energy.
Nyton knelt near their feet, worried eyes fixed upon Torin. “Are you injured, my lord? My heart near stopped when he speared the hay, but we did not dare stop sooner, lest they had followed and were watching.”
Torin managed a small smile for the farmer. “Just a small nick on me, nothing serious. You got us through them, which I am eternally grateful for. You did well.”
Nyton flushed with pleasure, and his son grinned.
“I have some bandages, General, and some salve my wife makes. Heals anything. We all swear by it.”
Aidan sat up, gesturing for the items. “I will tend the wound. I give thanks for your bravery and your superb acting.” His voice held an unconsciousness tone of both command and noble gratitude.
Nyton passed him the small box, then inclined his head uncertainly. “You are welcome, my lord.” The title was tentative, almost questioning, and he looked to Torin for confirmation of Aidan’s position.
Torin nodded. At that moment, there was nothing but nobility in Aidan’s bearing, making it hard to imagine that he had ever been anything but. And there was the question. Who was Aidan? What bloodlines did he hold? Was his bearing from training alone, or was something else at work here?
Torin still held to the theory that he was of noble lineage, perhaps a bastard of some distant royal. If that were true, then the boy was a noble, whatever else may be said.
It was best to start as they meant to go on.
He would introduce him as Lord Aidan. That was safe enough, with no intimation of a princely position.
Aidan leaned over him, carefully pulling aside the torn material of his pants to better see the damage. His indrawn breath made Torin realize that perhaps it was worse than he had realized.
“It needs stitches, my lord.” Aidan’s body was held stiffly, the look in his eyes, the way he bit his lip, all showing that he was feeling Torin’s pain perhaps more than he himself was.
It was warming, that blatant concern, deep inside a cold place in Torin’s heart. He had many to worry over him—Paulsten, his men—but not someone intimate. It made him lighter somehow, despite the current situation.
He drew a deep breath and glanced at Nyton. “I assume you are handy with stitches, if you have livestock to tend.”
The farmer looked taken aback, his face paling somewhat. “I have done so, my lord, but you are hardly a horse or cow.”
Torin found himself chuckling, wanting to ease the worry clear on Aidan’s face. “They are hardier than I am, to be sure, but it needs to be done. Do your best, though no one but my lover will see it close.” His eyes held Aidan’s.
The young man flushed bright as a beet, exposing the truth of their relationship quite clearly.
Nyton glanced at him, then Aidan, and a sly grin tilted his lips. “I will do such fine work that even your young lord cannot complain.”
Aidan flushed more vividly, leaning back on his boot heels and looking anywhere but them, though his hand remained on Torin’s face, perhaps without him even knowing it.
Torin grinned, taking the hand in his and kissing the palm. “Don’t watch, it will only make you sick. I am strong if it is my own wound. Not so much when it is someone I care deeply for.”
Aidan met his eyes and ventured a tentative smile and squeezed his fingers.
“Whatever I can do to help,” he whispered, concern ingrained in the words.
Torin drew him closer. “I need something to bite on. Other than that, just be here, and forgive me if I crush your fingers.”
A piece of leather strapping was found, then Nyton smeared the salve over the wound, swearing it would numb it to a degree.
Torin gritted his teeth as it seeped into the torn flesh, burning like fire. Moments later, Nyton’s claim bore fruit as it began to throb, then slowly numb down to bearable twinges.
With Aidan’s help, he pushed his pants off, freeing the leg. Aidan was more intent on his modesty that he was; the boy removed his own shirt despite the cold, draping it over Torin’s lap for the procedure.
In turn, Nyton’s son took a blanket from under the seats and draped it around Aidan’s shoulders. The look of shock and distrust on the boy’s face as he tentatively accepted the gesture, wrenched at Torin’s heart.
This young man had undergone so much. So many things that Torin did not understand about him. Perhaps, given a little time, he could learn more of his new young lover.
If time they had…
He flinched at the first puncture of the needle, unable to help himself, grinding his teeth together as he drew a deep breath and sought to steady himself.
Aidan held his hands, speaking softly, trying to distract him with descriptive words of where they were, what landscape surrounded them, the scenery laying to the south, their goal.
Nyton’s son apologized, but placed himself so he could hold Torin’s leg still.
He was more mentally prepared for the next piercing pain, but his body disagreed, and he had to fight to remain motionless.
Aidan’s fingers tightened upon his. “I can see a town to the south, my lord. Perhaps that is where your army will be? Imagine being there, safe at last, their joy at seeing you. Lord Paulsten will be beside himself when he realizes you have returned.” A slim hand rose and stroked his sweating brow soothingly.
Torin stared up into the trees above them, squinting into dappled sunlight. He focused on Aidan’s words, on the images he presented. Just a short time more and they would be free. He would gather his forces and turn on the bastard invaders once and for all.
At last, it would be all or nothing. No more waiting, no more planning. He let his mind wander, following the sound of Aidan’s lyrical voice, drifting…
“Done, my lord.” Nyton carefully wiped the blood away. “Hope I did a decent enough job. Used smaller stitches than I would have bothered with normally.” He winked, then began wrapping the wound with swift efficiency, his son holding the leg up.
Torin let out a deep, thankful sigh. The ordeal was over, and although the wound was throbbing angrily, it would no doubt settle within the wrappings if he just managed to stay still enough.
Beside him, Aidan let out a breath of his own, and Torin realized the young man was shaking ever so slightly.
He struggled to an elbow and immediately Aidan was there, propping him up, moving him as gently as possible, as though he might break with the slightest mischance. It made Torin hide a smile. He had never been treated with such care since he was but a child.
Nyton leaned back, tidying up the medical supplies. “I think we might move more swiftly now, my lord. It will be nightfall soon and there is a place we can camp at, safe and secluded. My sons have spoken of it, in their travels to the south.”
Torin nodded, feeling his energy seep away. He had not slept when Aidan had, and now it was taking its toll. He wanted to be up, wanted to see where they were, wanted… He laid back down, Aidan holding him close, as Nyton and his son covered them back up.
What before had been stifling, now was comforting, as though they were separated from the world, just the two of them.
“Sleep, my lord. I am here. I will watch out for you. Just sleep.”
Torin could not even protest. He simply laid his head on Aidan’s shoulder, and fell fast asleep before he could blink.
* * *
That night was spent in an isolated spot by a gentle river, far away from the road. Torin roused enough to eat something that Nyton had heated up on the fire and then promptly fell back asleep in Aidan’s arms.
He woke sometime in the night, murmuring against Aidan’s skin as he tightened hi
s grip upon his lover.
Drowsily, he lay there, savoring the moment. He was warm, fed, the pain of his wound had dulled somewhat, and Aidan was safe beside him.
This moment was very good.
Aidan stirred, his soft breath feathering across Torin’s shoulder for a moment. He shifted, letting his fingers ghost over Aidan’s face in the darkness.
“How is your leg, my lord?”
“Better, much better.” He let his fingers trail over Aidan’s cheek, then slide curled around the back of his neck to draw him closer.
They kissed, softly at first, then the passion rose and Torin grew more forceful, his tongue tangling with Aidan’s, making the younger man moan.
“We should not; you are hurt, and they will hear…” Aidan’s protest was faint, and Torin could not help smiling.
“They live in a two room house with all their children, most of whom are full grown. Do you think they are not used to the sounds of pleasure?”
Aidan resisted a moment more, then leaned into him, a helpless moan showing his acceptance.
Torin’s fingers traced downwards, tracing around the gap between shirt and pants, enjoying the feel of warm, taut skin. His lover’s breathing sped up markedly at even so small a thing.
So responsive, so innocent. And all his. Torin drew back, letting his breath feather over Aidan’s ear.
The young man shuddered, arching, clutching at him.
Responsive indeed.
So beautiful, that unfettered reaction.
He unfastened the ties of Aidan’s pants with one hand, letting his hand slide within, encountering a hot, very rigid cock, that was already seeping. He trailed his fingers through the moisture, then brought the treat to his lips, licking his finger clean, and humming appreciatively at the taste.
Although Aidan could not see his actions, he must have guessed, because a small groan sounded soon after, the boy shifting closer, shivering with need.
“You taste divine, a little addictive even.” Torin’s amusement was evident in his tone. “When we have time, and the place, I will show you exactly how much I want that taste again.”