by Aldrea Alien
“I was just thinking. Of when we reach Wintervale.” His gaze slid over the camp. Authril was insistent on returning to the army. Katarina would no doubt press on to Dvärghem. And Marin… Who knew where the hunter would disappear to? “I’m going to miss all of you.”
Two more weeks. That’s all he had before he lost more than his magic. He was used to making the best of what he had, but now…
It wasn’t enough. It didn’t matter if was two months, years, decades, even two lifetimes. None of them would be long enough.
“I am certain some of us will reunite in our travels,” Tracker said.
“Of course,” he murmured. But he wouldn’t be one of them. Even if he was able to mingle with Authril whilst in the army camps, soldiers could leave. And hedgewitches ventured into the kingdom whenever a new site was discovered, whilst hounds and hunters were always on the move, whereas weapons…
They just kept on fighting until they were useless.
Dylan rubbed his throat, feeling the too-smooth patch of his scar. What else could he do but follow the destiny laid before him? There were so few spellsters left. He could even be the last one in Demarn. The kingdom needed him to defend against the savages of the Udynea Empire and he would be there, doing his duty.
There was nothing else he could do.
Dylan awoke to a strange weight on his chest. A person, judging by the heartbeat-like pulsing against his stomach. And, if he was also to make assumptions based on the gentle vibrations and warmth emanating from said being, it was Tracker. He opened an eye and peered downwards.
Sure enough, the hound lay on top of him, the man’s head pillowed on Dylan’s bare chest. Between the heat, the soft purring and the pureness of their contact, it was almost enough to lull him back to sleep.
“So,” he slurred. “This is what you meant by sleeping on top.” They’d been sleeping in the same tent for the past week and, despite the man’s numerous teasing, he’d never used Dylan for anything more than a pillow.
The hound stirred. He lifted his head, sleepily blinking his eyes, and smiled. “Are you aware that you make a wonderful bed?”
Dylan chuckled. “I believe someone said something similar to me not so long ago. You might know him. Handsome man. Elven, russet hair, bronze skin… the most gorgeous eyes I’ve ever seen.”
Tracker hummed as his lips danced across Dylan’s collarbone. “I might have heard of him. Has anyone ever told you that you are a very heavy sleeper?”
“Once.” He’d fallen asleep listening to Sulin rave and ramble about the recklessness of another alchemist. Unfortunately, the bed he’d drifted off on hadn’t been his. Sulin had apparently tried to wake him for a straight half-hour before giving up.
His memory slid to the first time he had dared venture into Tracker’s tent, of the ease in which the hound had woken. “I suppose I should be fortunate to have someone such as you so close at hand.”
“Extremely so,” Tracker purred, rubbing the tips of their noses together.
Smiling, Dylan tilted his head upwards to let their lips meet.
The hound stiffened slightly at the touch, then his body sagged back into Dylan’s grasp. His mouth opened, just enough to let his tongue slip out and lightly trace the seam of Dylan’s lips, seeking entry.
Dylan parted his lips, inhaling the man’s breath. Tracker’s tongue darted inside, forcing Dylan lips wider whilst the man continued to explore as if they’d never kissed before. He dug his fingers into the hound’s hair, ensuring the man didn’t go anywhere.
Coupled with Tracker’s warmth and weight, the fire in his gut flared, burning hotter with every second. It shifted Dylan’s hips, rocking them ever so slightly and causing his very much erect length to rub against the man’s in search of relief.
Tracker groaned, the vibration tingling through Dylan’s body.
That soft sound was all it took to ignite the primal hunger lurking deep inside him. This simple thing of light friction wasn’t enough. Dylan increased the pressure, thrusting his hips against the hound’s, growling as Tracker mirrored his actions. He wanted, needed, to hear the man cry out, to feel Tracker quiver with pleasure.
The hound’s weight lifted from his chest, breaking the hold the man’s lips had on Dylan’s mouth. “Gods,” he breathed. Those honey-coloured eyes dropped, then flicked back up, one side of his mouth rising along with it. “First thing in the morning? It was just a kiss.”
Heat slunk its way along Dylan’s face. There was no just in the way the man kissed. “You’re lying on top of me,” he mumbled. As if that explained everything.
The man’s painstakingly slow kisses crept along Dylan’s neck until they reached his ear. “And where would you prefer I lay?” Tracker whispered, setting Dylan’s skin to pebbling.
He shivered, his mind travelling to all sorts of places it really shouldn’t at this time of day. “We should get up.”
The elf hummed, a little too smugly for Dylan’s liking. “It seems you have rather beaten me to that.”
A small, nervous laugh drifted up his throat. He might have to begin with, but that certainly wasn’t the case now. “I meant in the getting dressed sense.”
Tracker sat back, the blankets sliding down his back to pool around Dylan’s legs. “And leave you in such a poor state?” The hound clicked his tongue. A finger trailed across Dylan’s chest, slinking lower. “I am afraid that is something I simply cannot allow.”
“Are you serious?” he hissed even as he felt himself twitch at the thought. “It’s the morning!” The others would already be awake and quite possibly sitting around the fire not far from their tent. He hadn’t exactly been able to stay that quiet under his own power when the hound was involved, much to his embarrassment. Doing anything now would just invite more talk when they’d only begun to stop.
“Then you should pay extra attention to being silent.” Grinning, Tracker tilted his head to one side, causing the end of his braid to slither around the tops of Dylan’s thighs. “Or I could gag you again, yes?”
“No, you could not.” The man had caught him by surprise that time, Dylan being too far gone in pleasure to refuse an easy way of muffling his cries.
“Spoilsport.” Giving a soft little hum, the hound knelt over him. The gentle press of warm skin wasn’t quite enough to suit Dylan. “Look at you,” Tracker purred. He caressed Dylan’s cheek, his fingers cool. “All flushed with desire. Do you know what an utterly gorgeous creature you are?”
He grinned, knowing very well what the hound was attempting. “Flatterer.”
Tracker brushed their foreheads together and Dylan felt more than saw the man’s brows lower. “Dear man, I speak only the truth.” His weight shifted, pressing their bodies together, as he slid a little ways downward.
Dylan gasped. The sensation of the man’s abdomen sliding along his length was not one he could handle for long. “That so?” he managed as Tracker nibbled along his jawline.
The hot blast of the elf’s near-silent chuckle on his neck sent a ripple of heat through his body. “Indeed.” He kissed the base of Dylan’s throat. “You are gorgeous.” His lips descended. “And powerful.” The warm wetness of the man’s tongue meandered across Dylan’s skin, pausing only to pay a little extra attention to his nipples. “So very dangerous.” Giving one brief, scorching kiss to the middle of Dylan’s abdomen, the elf moved lower still until his breath skimmed across Dylan’s length.
Dylan tipped back his head, a shudder of expectation coursing through him. The elf’s fingers wrapped around him and a breathless moan escaped his lips. His hips moved almost instinctively. He swallowed. The kisses the elf left on his skin had turned molten in his veins.
“And all mine,” Tracker growled, before sucking at the very tip of Dylan’s length. Only for a few frantic heartbeats, then the hound lifted his head. His tongue slid out to glide along his lips. “Or would you prefer I stopped?”
He stared down at the man. Those bright eyes had gone dark from more
than a mere lack of brightness. Dylan’s mouth went dry at the sight. “Don’t you dare,” he rasped.
The slight smug twist to the man’s lips was almost his undoing. Without breaking eye contact, Tracker lowered his head.
Dylan bit his lip, muffling another moan. There were so few times he could see more than faint impressions of the man. Watching Tracker only stoked the fire churning in his gut.
The hound, perhaps aware he was under such scrutiny, kept his movements maddeningly slow. He licked up the underside of Dylan’s length, teasingly flicking the tip, before gliding back down. His hot breath, thick and heavy, shuddered across Dylan’s skin, but not once did the man take Dylan into his mouth.
Slowly, he became aware of Tracker repositioning himself, then there was a gentle hand parting Dylan’s legs enough for the elf to settle between them. The hound played with Dylan’s balls, almost absentmindedly, before slipping a finger further down to circle his entrance.
Dylan struggled to keep his breathing even, his eyes rolling back. Gods, the hound was really planning on taking him with the others sitting just on the other side of the tent wall. His legs quivered at the thought. Just as well he was already lying down or they would’ve dumped him on the spot.
The tip of that finger slipped inside. At the same time, Tracker opened his mouth wide and engulfed him to the hilt in one smooth movement.
Dylan gave a strangled gasp. Cold air flooded his lungs and set his head to spinning. More of the elf’s long finger had wriggled its way in, hitting just the right spot, as Tracker began sucking and bobbing his head in earnest.
Gods…
His back arched. His lips gaped wordlessly. Dylan clamped a hand over his mouth, knowing that it wouldn’t be enough to muffle his cries once he reached the edge. He panted through his nose. He could stop this. Just say the word and Tracker would back off.
Like that’s going to happen.
Dylan gripped the bedding with his free hand, blindly clawing his way across the blankets until softer cloth greeted his fingers. He tugged and the hound’s undershirt came free. No time to find a more suitable replacement. Dylan balled a section of the fine linen and, between breaths, shoved the cloth into his mouth just as he tipped over the edge.
He lay still whilst his heartbeat slowly returned to normal. Twinkling specks of light danced before his vision.
With the cloth still wedged in his mouth, his breath whistled through his nose. His limbs felt far too heavy to move. He worked his jaw, trying to push the undershirt free with his tongue.
Tracker surfaced, licking his lips and looking decidedly self-satisfied. “Look at that,” he breathed. “He can find a way to be silent all on his own.” The hound pulled the cloth free of Dylan’s mouth only to replace it with his tongue.
Digging his fingers deep into the man’s braid, Dylan shakily managed to haul the hound’s head back. “Gods, Track,” he panted. “Let me have some air first.” He took several deep breaths, waiting until his heart had stopped pounding quite so hard before continuing. “And warn me when you’re going to pull something like that.”
A wide grin took Tracker’s face. “Ah, but surprise is half the fun, yes? You certainly did not mind the first time.”
That he had not. Dylan slowly ran his tongue over his lips. He’d grown used to the faint taste of himself lingering where the elf’s mouth had touched. It always sparked a question, but he was often too consumed by other actions for it to really register long enough to ask. “You know, the way you do it is remarkably similar to your prostitute friend.”
“Hmm?” The hound sat back, his brow creased with bemusement. “Is it? I suppose I have not really had a chance to compare techniques.”
“Didn’t you spend several years in The Gilded Lily?” And, by the man’s own admittance, they would occasionally be required to service a patron together. Dylan couldn’t have been the first man to find their actions so alike. Or to comment on it.
Tracker snapped his fingers. “That must be it. A similarity born of familiarity in each other’s abilities.”
“Could be that,” Dylan murmured as he propped himself up on his arms. “But you know what I think?”
The most dramatic scoff Dylan had ever witnessed passed through the man’s lips. “I cannot possibly imagine what could be running through your head right now.”
Smirking, Dylan ran his hand up Tracker’s arm. “I think it was actually you.”
The hound tensed; a minuscule movement that was swiftly covered by indifference. “What was?”
“Back at The Gilded Lily, when we—”
Tracker chuckled. “I thought we had already established that I kissed you.” He drew back further, snaking his arm behind his back to avoid Dylan’s touch. “I even apologised for it the next day.”
“For the kiss, yes.” He’d been very particular about that. “But you did more than kiss me, didn’t you?” It wasn’t Treasure’s mouth that had been so greedy. He recalled Marin’s words, of how the hound used to look at him before the tower. Like something to be devoured. Well, if he was correct, then the man had done a fair bit of devouring that night.
“I have no idea what you are talking about.” The hound’s gaze flicked towards their clothes, piled in a tangled heap. “We should get dressed, yes?”
Dylan grasped the man’s waist as Tracker went to stand. “You do know.” The more he thought about it, the more sense it made. There was no way two people could feel that similar.
The man hung his head. “Very well,” he whispered. “It seems you have rooted me out.”
“So, you—what?—couldn’t help yourself?”
A slightly bashful grin tweaked Tracker’s lips. “Something like that, yes. You were rather close, temptingly so, and…” He rubbed at his neck, grimacing. “Well, at the time, I assumed we would part ways at the tower and I rather doubted you would be willing at any other point along the way, so yes, I may have assisted Treasure a little in expediting your climax.”
He smirked. “A little?”
Tracker sighed. “Fine, I concede. It was me, entirely. You are right, I could not help myself.”
“Did we even need to see Treasure?” Yes, she had told them of the Talfaltaners company, even if she hadn’t been able to verify much, but the hound couldn’t have known she’d have anything of import. And the man had been insistent on Dylan coming with him when he visited her.
“What is this? You think I took you there just for that?” Laughing softly, Tracker shook his head. “How was I to know Authril would insist on being in the room? Or that you would follow her, let alone engage so readily? No, I certainly could not have foreseen what happened.”
No, he wouldn’t have. Just like Authril’s presence.
Dylan idly rubbed gentle circles into the hollows of the man’s hips. What would’ve happened had the warrior not joined them on their little trip into The Gilded Lily? Would he have found himself in a similar situation, pinned between the prostitute and the hound? Or would Tracker have been content to leave Dylan wandering the lower floor whilst he played?
Something hard and throbbing pressed against his belly, drawing his attention. The sensation had him sharply recalling that his release hadn’t also been a mutual one. “Uh… Track?” He ran his hand down the hound’s body until his fingers brushed the man’s length. It twitched against his skin and Tracker’s breath hitched.
Fair’s fair. It’d have to be quick, although judging by how much the hound was already leaking, Dylan doubted that would be much of a problem. “Do—?” The words halted as Tracker laid a finger on his lips.
The man grasped Dylan’s wrist and carefully withdrew his hand. “Pay it no mind. It will go down on its own. Eventually.”
Dylan slid his other hand into place to run a finger up the hound’s length, marking how it shifted towards the touch. No way was he about to let the hound leave unsatisfied. “The same could be said for me, but you insisted.”
The tip of Tracker’s tongue s
lid along his lips. “And I take it that you are now the one insisting, yes?” His voice had gone deliciously husky. His hips rocked ever so slightly, rubbing himself on Dylan’s abdomen.
Dylan let a tiny spark of lightning leap from his fingertip to brush the man’s flesh. “I am.”
Tracker gasped. His eyes rolled back and fluttered shut. “All right, then,” he rasped. “Make it quick.”
Dylan allowed another spark to dance on his fingertip and whispered, “You’ll have to be quiet.”
The hound bit his bottom lip and nodded. Unlike Dylan, the man had demonstrated on multiple occasions how adept he was at not making a sound when the situation called for it.
And Dylan planned to test just how far he could push that limit.
He started slow, teasing to the best of his ability the man still straddling his waist, stopping whenever more than a gentle huff escaped those barely-parted lips. The lightning buzzed and snapped between them. The charge between them lifted the hair on Dylan’s stomach. Occasionally, the odd tendril would sting his skin. After the third such strike, he tilted the hound’s hips upward before continuing.
It was fascinating watching Tracker unravel on top of him. The way the man bit his lip on every down stroke. The perfect way his spine arched to let his head tip back, but still let Dylan see his face. The little flutter of his lids as his eyes rolled back. The soft, almost whimpering, puffs of breath that managed to escape through his nose.
Dylan could lie here for hours drinking in that sight and never grow tired.
Before long, Tracker fell to all fours, a softly pleading mess of a man. Sweat gleamed along his skin. His mouth dropped open. Each exhale blasted Dylan’s neck with hot air.
Feeling wicked, Dylan sought to push the hound over the edge that much faster. He slid the tip of his tongue along the top angle of the elf’s ear as he also increased the speed of his strokes, abandoning magic in favour of pure friction.
Tracker grappled for him, pinning Dylan to the ground. He sealed their mouths together as he continued to thrust into Dylan’s hand. His moans hummed down Dylan’s throat. Then all movement from the elf ceased. Warm, thick liquid hit Dylan’s stomach.