by Aldrea Alien
The elf’s lips curved. He peered at Dylan through lowered eyelashes. “I do like the way that sounds.” Tracker settled between Dylan’s thighs, the edges of the elf’s leather pants chill against his bare skin. “I usually abhor bragging, but I feel it would be remiss of me if I did not mention how good I am at this. Give me a chance and I guarantee you will be screaming my name before the night is done.”
Sudden, terrified uncertainty took hold of his limbs. Dylan scurried backwards, realising his folly in the move only when his hand slipped off the opposite edge of the bed. He slid gracelessly to the floor, his legs tangling with the bedding.
The hurried rustle of cloth preceded Tracker’s head popping over the edge. The elf eyed him, concern stamped across his handsome face. Then he grinned, seeming to come to the conclusion that Dylan was unharmed, his head tipping to rest on Dylan’s upright boot. “You moved a lot faster than I anticipated.”
Heat flooded Dylan’s face. What a sight he must look, stripped to the waist and lying on his back with his legs in the air. Thank the gods the women hadn’t decided to investigate. He’d probably die from sheer embarrassment.
Tracker settled on the edge of the bed as Dylan righted himself. “Do you want to stop?”
Even with the man’s assurance that he only had to say the word, he hadn’t expected to be given a way out unless he sought it. Never mind this was a relatively easy one given that he could agree with the man’s assessment and leave it at that. Still…
“It would be rude of me to leave you in your current state, would it not?” He should at the very least return the favour. Perhaps not in the same way, he really wasn’t sure he’d ever be ready to attempt that particular act. But there were certain tricks only a spellster could do.
Tracker’s gaze dropped. His hand hovered over his belt. Unbuckled, the ends neatly framed the leather-encased bulge. “I am capable of creating my own fun, you need not concern yourself about that.” Hooking one foot behind the other, he hauled off his boots. “Although, you are more than welcome to watch.”
Dylan paused in getting to his feet. “Watch?” he echoed.
“That is what I said.” Tracker stood, undid the laces holding his trousers up and let them slide to the ground. The linen of his smallclothes was more revealing than Dylan had imagined. “It can be a rather… arousing experience. For both parties.”
Dylan licked his lips, his throat tightening on a whimper. He didn’t need to see the man pleasure himself to envision it. His mind was already creating a clear enough picture. He leant on the bed end, trying to sort through the emotions fizzing away in his gut. He couldn’t go through with any more. This was his limit, he was certain of it.
Hushed muttering had his gaze sliding back to the elf only to find Tracker battling with the laces of his smallclothes. A grin tweaked Dylan’s lips, the ridiculousness of such a sight distilling the fuzzy, bubbling sensation. “Are we stuck?”
“No, I have this.” The elf struggled a little longer, desperately plucking at the knot, before sighing his admission of defeat. “Apparently I am.”
Still on his knees, Dylan shuffled closer. From his… rather unique vantage point, he could see where the laces had tangled and was able to effortlessly work them through.
The smallclothes fell at an alarming rate, leaving him with a decent view of Tracker’s length. He swallowed. He’d never been this close. Not like this at any rate. His fingers twitched. The desire to wrap them around the man was powerfully strong.
Long fingers slid into his hair. Gentle, but firm. “When you have finished admiring…”
His gaze jerked up. He hadn’t been admir— Yes, I was. Fortunate, too, that he was still dressed or the stirring effect of such appreciation would’ve been all too apparent. “Sorry, I just…” He absently traced one of the many designs adorning the man’s hip to the sound of the elf’s soft groan. “I’ve never met anyone so heavily tattooed.” A truth, of sorts.
Tracker leant back on the bed with all the grace and lethality of a giant mouser. His lips twisting lewdly, he tracked Dylan’s fingers as they wove back forth through the faint hair on the man’s abdomen. “You would be more comfortable if you undressed, yes?”
Right. He’d already been stripped below the waist and there wasn’t anything the elf hadn’t already seen. No reason to not remove everything. Dylan swiftly dispensed with his belt and boots, tossing them to one side.
Uncertainty gripped him as he pulled his robe and the long undertunic over his head. He tried to shake the feeling free. The man had seen him naked before, he’d had Dylan in his mouth only moments ago. Yet the insecure tightening of his gut only increased as he shed the last bit of clothing. Whatever was the man thinking?
Tracker stopped him as he went to resume kneeling. “Look at you.” His hand slid down to caress Dylan’s semi-erect length. “Such doubt. One would think you expect me to attempt killing you during sex.”
The thought hadn’t crossed his mind, but now the elf mentioned it… This seemed less of a good idea than it had before.
He stepped back, beyond Tracker’s reach, and scanned the bed. There didn’t appear to be any weapons hiding amongst the blankets or any place the man could’ve concealed one.
Tracker chuckled, one corner of his mouth lifting. “I swear, if taking your life was my goal, I could have done so a hundred times between Toptower and here. No deception required.”
“You could have?” That was… rather disconcerting. He took a few more steps back, bumping into another bed, and collapsed onto the mattress.
The elf nodded. “If you still fear it, then allow me to put your mind at ease.” The way Tracker stalked the space between them, the hint of deadliness mingled with the husky way his words poured from those lips…
If this was to be his final vision, it was a good one.
“The king keeps his hounds well supplied with whatever weaponry we work best with,” Tracker continued. “This includes poisons and there are a number to which I am immune. Of those, there are a few that I could easily coat my tongue in that would have even the most powerful spellster writhing in agony by now.”
Poison. Did that mean the pounding of his heart had a far more sinister origin? “That’s not exactly conducive to having me continue.” And he longed to. That startling certainty hit him in a rush. By the gods, he wanted to trust the man enough to let… whatever was to happen just… happen.
Tracker’s mouth twitched into the slightest of smirks. “My point…” The man climbed onto Dylan’s lap, straddling him once again. With one thrust of his hips, he tipped Dylan onto his elbows. “Is that if I wanted you dead, you would not have made it this far.” He bent over Dylan, unabashed amusement dancing in his eyes. “I am not one to toy with my targets,” he breathed. Their lips brushed against each other’s as he spoke.
Dylan froze, recalling just where that mouth had last been. And, yes, he could taste himself on the elf’s lips. He reflexively swallowed and sharply reminded himself that this wasn’t the first time such a taste had touched his tongue.
“Dylan.” The word purred through the elf’s throat, stoking the hot yearning growing in Dylan’s gut. The twitching of the man’s length against his bare stomach was rather insistent. “If you wish to stop, you must say so. That was the rule we agreed on.”
“I know.” But he owed the elf release. Even if part of him deemed it unwise to entrust such closeness to a man who’d admitted to using poisons to take down his prey. Yet, Tracker was also right in that there’d been plenty of times the elf could’ve killed him. Dylan doubted he’d try now when there was the prospect of… other things.
He leant forward, tipping the man back. His hand slid up Tracker’s thigh and beyond. Warm, eager flesh greeted his grip. Easy enough. Much like what he’d done with himself a thousand times since puberty. And there was one little trick he hadn’t dared to try least he lost control and burnt himself, but if what Tracker said was true, then he didn’t need to worry…
Dylan foc
used. Lightning flashed to life between his fingers.
Tracker’s breath hitched, his eyes fluttering shut. He softly rocked into Dylan’s hand. Dylan kept up the slow rhythm, delighting in the rich moan escaping the man’s lips. The elf tipped forward, his forehead pressed to Dylan’s shoulder, his thrusts gradually increasing in speed.
With the pointed ear so close, Dylan couldn’t resist sliding his tongue along the upper slope. He knew how sensitive elven ears were to the slightest of touches. His tongue reached the tip, where he gently nibbled.
Sure enough, the action was rewarded with another gasp and a second shudder.
Dylan flexed his fingers, giving the lightning a little more room to buzz and watched, enrapt, in Tracker’s every breath and movement as his magic-assisted strokes drove the elf ever closer to completion.
The man’s moans grew louder. His thrusts against Dylan’s hand became more insistent, deepening each stroke. Taking the hint, he increased the pace to the sound of Tracker’s appreciative whimper.
A deep intake of breath was all the warning he had of the man reaching the edge. Tracker arched, a hoarse yell vibrating through his throat. Dylan clamped his free palm over the elf’s mouth as liquid, warm and thick, ran down the fingers of his other hand. He kept going, working the elf dry.
Only once Tracker had grown quiet did Dylan dare to remove his hand from the man’s face.
One last lingering groan escaped the elf’s lips. “Dare I even ask how you did that?” he managed between gasps, his head rocking on Dylan’s shoulder.
Dylan gave a breathy chuckle. He gently nibbled on the lobe of Tracker’s ear, his tongue toying with the earring hanging there. “A spellster never reveals his secrets,” he whispered.
The hound sat back, still slightly dazed. “Spellst—” The fog cleared from the man’s eyes in one blink. “You mean magic?” he growled.
Before Dylan could understand what had happened, he found himself pressed hard into the bed.
Tracker hovered over him, his teeth bared as if ready to tear out Dylan’s throat. “You used magic on me?”
The mild flush of shock gave way to the rising bloom of anger. He sat up, tipping the elf back onto his lap. “You were the one who said magic has no effect on hounds.”
Tracker opened his mouth to respond, then closed it, a sheepish smile twisting his lips. “That is… correct.” He brushed back the coils of hair that’d escaped their bindings. “But I felt something. I wish to know what.”
“This.” Dylan held up a hand and let a tiny flash of lightning weave between his thumb and forefinger.
Tracker reached out and, before Dylan could move or warn him away, ran a finger through the bolt. The lightning parted as his digit brushed the line, forking around the hound to meet on the other side.
Dylan gasped, unable to pull his gaze away from the sight. Magic truly couldn’t affect the elf.
“I can feel it,” Tracker breathed, his voice thick with awe.
He opened his mouth, prepared to explain just what the man had felt, before stilling his tongue. His gaze drifted to the hound’s face. Tracker seemed fixated on little else except running his fingers through the lightning.
Dylan curled his free arm around the man’s waist. Confronted with such a pure expression of wonder, he couldn’t bring himself to sully it with explanations. They could come later.
For now, it was merely them and the lightning.
Dylan lost all sense of time whilst sitting on the bed with Tracker upon his lap. He could barely think of anything beyond them. The heat of the man’s bare skin against his own blazed hotter than any fire. Their bodies pressed closer with every breath, each gentle movement far more intimate than any sexual act he’d ever done. The faint hint of cinnamon from the elf’s soap intermingled with the man’s natural scent and filled his nose, heavy and intoxicating.
Eventually, Tracker lowered his hand. Those long fingers trailed up Dylan’s arm to hook behind his neck, their silken touch leaving a tingling path. “I felt magic,” he murmured, still seemingly dazed.
Letting the little bolt of lightning dissipate, Dylan shook his head. “No.” If the man had felt the full force, he would’ve been screaming in agony rather than groaning. Dylan, having had similar treatment from Nestria, could barely stand a fraction of what he’d given the hound. “You likely felt the charge in the air.”
The hound grinned. “That is my point. I felt…” Tracker tipped back and stalled, visibly distracted. “Well now,” he breathed. “I suppose you would like me to get off you?”
Dylan’s grip on the man’s waist tightened as the elf made to leave. “S-stay.” The warmth flooding his face increased, but then everything felt hot with the man near. Tracker put out far more heat than he expected. It burrowed through to his core. “Please.”
“Oh?” The elf slipped his hand between them, those teasing fingers brushing along Dylan’s very much erect length.
He swallowed. So much for thinking the man hadn’t noticed.
“With a request like that,” Tracker whispered, “you could have me believing you are after more.”
Dylan’s chest rose and fell rapidly, aching with the need to inhale all the air in the world at once. I can stop at any time. Yet, he’d gone this far, he might as well continue. He grinned, hoping it looked far more confident than he felt. “Well, I haven’t told you to stop.”
The hound smirked and he could’ve sworn the man’s touch was a little firmer, a little rougher. “No, that you have not. Was there something else you were after?”
“That depends entirely on what you’ve got on offer,” he managed, his voice rasping.
Tracker chuckled. “Anything you desire.”
Dylan tipped his head back. It wasn’t his imagination. The elf’s long fingers were doing all the right things, steadily turning the fire in his gut into an inferno. It moved his body, thrusting him hard and fast into the man’s grip. If they kept this up, he wasn’t going to last long enough for—
Anything? He stared at the ceiling as his mind sluggishly caught up with the man’s words. He struggled to slow the frantic pace he also desperately yearned to continue.
Relief, along with a slight twinge of disappointment, washed over Dylan when the hound withdrew his touch.
“I want…” What? “In,” Dylan mumbled. “You.” His cheeks burned as his ears caught up with the drivel coming out his mouth. He could do words. “I want to be inside you.”
There was the briefest of twitches from the elf. Surprise? Reluctance?
Dylan winced. Maybe that hadn’t been what the man had in mind. “If that’s all right?”
Tracker bent over him. Those honey-coloured eyes all but glowed with lust. “All right?” He rolled his hips, pressing closer, and his length glided along Dylan’s. “Is that enough of an answer for you?”
Their lips met before he could respond. He gasped between kisses, inhaling the elf’s hot breath. It set his head spinning. They fumbled their way up the bed in a tangle of limbs, pressing against each other, thrusting and grinding, seeking whatever release could be found. With their tongues entwined, Dylan’s quickening breath puffed desperately through his nose.
Again, Tracker slipped his hand between them. Teasing fingers continued to stroke him, guiding Dylan’s length to the hound’s desired destination.
Dylan groaned, he grasped the man’s hips, holding Tracker back. He might not have done this before, but it felt like they’d missed a rather important step. “Track…”
The elf grunted, seeming to be aware of the same thing and rather less concerned about it. “It is fine.”
Was it? Practically everything he’d ever heard about pleasure between two men involved other things to make it easier. Dylan propped himself on his arms. “I don’t want to hurt you.” Unlike some of the people he’d been with, he derived no pleasure from harming his partners. And with Tracker, it wasn’t as if magic could fix things later.
The elf grinned. “He thinks
he can hurt me. How sweet.” He ran a finger along Dylan’s jaw. “That is unlikely to happen, I assure you. In any case, I do not mind a little pain.”
One of those was he? Well, that made no difference. Dylan lifted a leg, tipping the man forward until their noses touched. “Has anyone told you that you’re a rather depraved man?”
The hound’s grin widened. “Why yes, I have heard that before. A great many times.”
“So long as you know.” He nuzzled the elf’s neck, his teeth grazing across the throat and heavy pulse found there until he sank them into the curve where neck met shoulder. He was rewarded with a soft, drawn-out moan. Low and guttural, the sound buzzed through to his core.
His hands slid up Tracker’s thighs to clench the elf’s backside. With the man’s subtle guidance, Dylan eased himself in. Slowly, desperate to slam himself to the hilt in one blow. He closed his eyes as, inch by torturous inch, he was devoured.
When he almost couldn’t go any further, Tracker chuckled. “Do you take everyone like they are some delicate flower?” he breathed into Dylan’s ear. “I will not break if you are a little rough.”
Dylan opened his eyes to find that honey-coloured gaze focused on his face, gauging his reaction. His lips twisted, a dozen wicked thoughts flitting through his mind. His final thrust wasn’t so gentle.
A soft grunt escaped the man’s throat and his eyelids fluttered briefly, but no protests followed.
Dylan grasped Tracker’s waist, holding the elf still as his mind tried to catch up with the rest of him. He was inside the man. Biting his lip, he gave his hips an experimental wriggle to the sound of Tracker’s hushed moan. There was some truth to what the hound said, it didn’t feel all that different.
He withdrew a little ways before driving in again. Over and over, he slammed them together with short, hard strokes. It didn’t take long for Tracker to match his pace, pushing down as he thrust up. Still, it wasn’t enough. He needed… More.
Without warning, he flipped them. Tracker grunted as his back hit the mattress. But as Dylan dragged the man to the edge of the bed by the legs, leaving the elf sprawled before him, he found the purchase he wanted.