by Lynn Lorenz
“Where are you going?” Ansel stood with his hands on his hips.
“Upstream. Come on.”
I led the way as the hillside sloped up, pushing low-hanging branches to the side until I came to a clearing. A large pool of water, with a waterfall emptying into it, was tucked into the side of the hill. Steam rose off the water.
“We’re in luck! A hot spring!” I tied off the horse and began to pull off my clothes. Ansel watched as I undressed.
“Do you know how to swim?” I asked him.
“Sort of.” He didn’t sound that sure, but his gaze never left my body.
Naked, I stood on the edge of the pool and put in a careful foot. Instead of scalding hot, the water was warm, cooled by the cold waterfall coming down from the higher hills. I sank under the water and came back up.
“This is great, Ansel. Just what your sore muscles need.” I leaned back against the rock and closed my eyes. When I opened them, he was undressing, and I watched him, enjoying the look of his lean body and the way his muscles moved. He was beautiful, his body unmarred perfection. When he joined me, he sat next to me and rested his hand on my shoulder. His dog lay down in the shade of a tree, near the horses.
His fingers found an old scar on my chest and traced its shape.
“Where did you get this one?”
I didn’t need to open my eyes to know which one he asked about. “In the battle at Sheldon. An arrow made it through my leather vest.” His fingers lingered there, then moved on.
If he intended on finding out about every scar on my body, we’d be here the rest of the day and into the night. I had other ideas, but his touch was so relaxing I let it continue.
“And this?” He’d slid his fingers to the wound on my back, above my shoulder blade.
“Knife fight in a tavern over a whore.”
His fingers kept going. Damn it, I knew my body was scarred; I didn’t need it pointed out. I pushed off the rock and swam to the waterfall. Under the fall was a grotto, with a submerged ledge where you could sit. The water fell like a curtain about two feet in front of it.
I climbed up, sat on the ledge, waist deep in water, and watched Ansel swim to me. His body parted the falling water like a curtain as he joined me on the rock.
“What’s wrong?” His eyes held mine.
“I know I have scars, Ansel.” My tone must have been hard, because he jerked back.
“I meant nothing more than to wonder where you had been in your life and to know what had befallen you.”
I stared out at the water. He reached out and stroked the scar on my face, and my eyes closed. How could a man’s hands feel so good against my skin? Or his mouth taste so sweet? Or was it only Ansel’s hands, his touch, and his taste?
He pulled my head to the side to look into my eyes and tried to kiss me. Still angry, I jerked away, slid off the ledge, and slipped through the falls into the pool. Making my way across, I felt his hand on my ankle a second before he pulled me under.
With barely time to take a breath, I turned and saw him through the clear water as he swam away. I pushed off from the bottom and shot after him. Grabbing his foot, I dragged him back. He turned to meet me and we grappled, underwater, our hair floating around our heads and bubbles leaking from our mouths, until we had to part and breathe air. Breaking the surface of the water, I heard his warm laugh echo off the rocks.
He turned and swam to the falls, and I followed. I reached him just as he began to lift himself onto the ledge again. Wrapping my arms around his chest, I pinned him there, both our bodies hidden behind the waterfall. His body was solid, his muscles taut, and I pressed myself into his back. Reaching around, I took his submerged rod in my hand and he moaned. As I stroked him with one hand, the warm waters swirled around our hips. The fingers of my other hand taunted his nipples.
My cock was hard, standing against my belly as I pressed it into the valley of his firm buttocks, and his cock jerked in my hand. We stood half in the water and half out, him slightly bent over the ledge with me behind him, driving him hard with my hand.
“Drake!” he cried out.
I could feel his body stiffen. I leaned forward, opened my mouth, and bit his shoulder, meaning to mark his perfect body. His groan rumbled around the rock cave. The warmth of his cream spilled over my still pumping fist. Shuddering, he slumped forward.
Where I’d bitten him was merely bruised, no torn flesh.
“Sorry.” Why was I so rough with him, who’d only been tender with me?
“About?”
“The bite.”
“Gods, it was just what I needed.” He gave a short laugh and shook his head, water flying from his hair. “Pushed me right over.”
“Did it? I must remember that.” I stroked his back, letting my fingers trail down his spine to the spot just above his valley. My cock was still standing, aching with my need. I slipped my fingers into the valley and rubbed his tender flesh.
He arched back and growled low in his throat. The sound vibrated through me, and I pressed harder with each probing. The water took the place of my oil. My other hand played in his wet hair, raking through tresses of chestnut, enjoying its feel, like the finest fringe through my fingers.
Pressing his ass into my hand, Ansel sighed. I wondered if he wanted what I wanted. Making another pass over his hole, I slipped my finger inside him. It was tight and hot, and he jerked forward, as if to escape me, but I wrapped my hand in his hair and held him. I wanted to control him, dominate him completely, and make him beg for me. Pulling my finger out, I pressed against the rim, rubbing small circles around it.
Ansel placed one knee on the ledge and spread himself to me. That was the moment I decided I was going to fuck him. After this, there would be no turning back.
I removed my finger from his warm flesh and heard his soft gasp. I replaced it with the head of my cock and rubbed it against his tight, puckered hole, drawing shudders from him.
“You want this?” I pulled his head back to whisper into his ear.
“Aye.” His voice rasped, as if he could barely get the words past his throat.
“Tell me what you want, Ansel.” I pressed, and the head of my cock eased inside, stretching him. Damn, nothing should feel this good, I thought. Nothing. A small way would not be enough for me, I wanted, no, needed more.
“Fuck me, Drake.” His voice broke.
“No.”
He tried to pull his head away from me, but I held him firm.
“You bastard,” he hissed.
“Aye. Tell me again.”
“Fuck me, Drake. Please.” His hands braced himself against the rock ledge.
I drove into him and he cried out. I had wanted to hurt him, I think, wanted to take him so far that he’d either leave me right then or stay with me forever, and even I was not sure which I wanted. But Ansel held steady as I pulled my length out of him, then slid it back in. I took slower strokes, and wrapped my arms around him to pull him close. My lips found his neck, his cheek, his shoulder; my tongue bathed his back as I kept pumping. I wanted to taste his skin, the salt from his sweat, and lap the water that beaded on his body.
He was moaning my name, over and over, his head hung down as his hands braced against the rock wall behind the ledge to help him push back into me.
Sparks were flying in my loins, on fire for the first time in a long time. Every inch of the skin that wrapped my rod was aflame. I held his hips as I fucked him, closing my eyes, losing myself in his body, until he cried out my name and spilled, his body jerking with each spasm, each jolt of release.
My sac tightened and the world grew black, then lights like sparks from a campfire exploded behind my eyes. My body stiffened, I drove my cock deep inside him and spilled my cream, biting back his name on my lips.
I let him go, and he slid off my cock. I lay on top of him, bent over on the ledge. Our hearts pounded in time as I held him. He turned in my arms and we kissed, open mouths, wet tongues, his hands buried in my hair, my han
ds cupping his ass.
Releasing each other, we swam back to the edge of the pool and stretched out on the rocks, drying in the late afternoon sun.
“We’d best dress and be a little further down the road before nightfall.” I sat up and pulled on my shirt, found my trews, and slipped them on. For some reason, I didn’t want to meet his eye.
“Aye. That would be best. To linger here would stop our journey and we’d miss the war.” He reached out and touched my face. My gaze rose to meet his and there was no blame in them, no hate, just that odd tender look.
“Then we best be off.” We stood and finished dressing, then we led the horses back to the road and pointed them west.
•●•
The next three days, we traveled the long road to Foray. When we weren’t training during the days, I would pull off the road only to take Ansel, and each time he followed me, letting me unlace his breeches, or to have them undone and waiting. I took him at my whim. I fucked him against trees, rocks, lying on the ground, standing, and on all fours, and every time he came to me willing.
And he pleasured me, on his knees, kneeling between my legs, his back against a tree as I stood in front of him; by the gods, he could suck me dry.
It was as if I couldn’t get enough Ansel. I would ride next to him, catch a whiff of his scent, and grow rock hard. If I rode behind him, the set of his shoulders made me long to bite them, marking him as mine. As long as he was in my presence, I wanted him. He consumed me.
By the second day, I thought I had slipped into some sort of glorious madness, where only he and I existed, and we would travel down this road forever, fucking, never reaching Foray, the battle, and whatever fate waited for us there.
At night, he would lie next to me, his hand resting on my chest, and kiss me so tenderly it made my heart ache. He would lick my scars, making me shudder with delight, and tell me I was handsome to his eyes. I will never forget the feel of his tongue as it traced the scar on my face. It seemed to be his favorite because he always returned to it as if fascinated, or to memorize its shape and texture.
His lips would travel down my body, sucking and biting my nipples to hard points, lick his way to my cock and he’d stroke me, or take me in his mouth, he told me, just to hear me moan. Each night we lay side by side and pleasured each other, one bringing the other to release with our hands and mouths.
By the third day, I knew I had been damned. We would arrive in Foray, and he would be forbidden to me. Unable to touch him, I thought I would surely go mad and run through the streets calling his name, until I was caught and killed.
During those three days and nights, I never let Ansel fuck me, and until we reached Foray, I never tasted his cock in my mouth.
Chapter Five
The morning we rode into Foray dawned clear and cool, but we broke camp as if a dark cloud hung over our heads. At Foray, we would go to the duke’s castle and sign up to join his forces. I would most likely take a position as a captain and lead a small troop. As for Ansel, he’d be a mounted soldier, since he had a horse, a clear advantage over being a foot soldier. I had no idea what the dog would do.
The town was crowded, with men seeking the same as we, gold and the chance to be killed. We were all fools, willing to die for a few coins. I often wondered if it would be nobler to fight for a cause I believed in, like a holy war, or perhaps on the side of someone in whom I had a stake in his winning. Money was as good a reason as any, I believed.
I don’t believe that anymore.
We made our way to a tavern, but it was full, and we were directed to the other side of the town.
“We’ll be lucky to get a room in this mob.” I motioned with my head to the crowd around us. It was slow going as we made our way through the rabble. Women selling everything from cloth to bread, from ribbons to potions, filled the streets, standing in the road, or against the buildings.
Children ran in and out of the crowd, some no doubt cutting purses, others stealing bits and pieces, and others just caught up in the festive mood of the town. On a hill in the near distance, just past the end of the town, stood the keep of Foray.
I pointed it out to Ansel, and he reined in his horse and looked at it.
“It looks well enough,” he said.
“Aye, remember it’s not the keep, but the duke we need to judge.”
“No matter, he’s better than Istend.” Ansel cleared his throat and spit on the ground to show his disgust.
“With that I must agree.” I nodded, and we continued through the town.
Passing through the wide doors to the inn’s courtyard, we brought our horses up near the adjoining stable. Two boys ran out and took the reins as we dismounted.
“Watch him, he bites,” I warned the boy holding Horse’s reins. “And kicks.”
Ansel shot me a look.
“I had to tell him, he’s just a lad.” I grinned and shrugged, then clapped Ansel on the back as we made our way to the inn to check for rooms.
I pulled open the door and stepped inside. It was dark, but didn’t smell too bad, if you don’t mind the smell of stale lager and pipe smoke. Looking around, I heard a voice call my name.
“Drake, damn it, is that you?”
A mountain of a man approached me, his arms spread wide as he grabbed me up in a hug that would kill a bear. I was big, but he towered.
“Jackson, old friend,” I managed to choke out.
He let me go and stood back, his eyes checking me out from head to boot.
“You look well. I’d heard you’d been wounded.”
“It was merely a scratch.” I waved away his concern and returned his grin.
“Are you here alone?” Jackson’s eyes darted to Ansel, standing behind me, his dog at his side.
“No, I travel with Ansel. He looks to sign on, also.”
“Is he good?” Jackson’s eyes narrowed as he inspected my pup.
“A damn good fighter and a cool head.”
“Fair praise from you.” Jackson turned to Ansel, who stood listening. “You must be skilled for Drake to speak so highly of you.”
“I have some skill.” Ansel’s voice was quiet and firm, neither boasting nor deflecting the comment.
Our eyes met and I knew we should not do that, not look or stare at each other or someone would know. Ansel must have understood because his gaze shifted to Jackson.
“Can I get the drinks?” he asked.
“Aye, there’s a good lad.” Jackson nodded. “I have a table, Drake, let’s sit and talk.” He led me to his table while Ansel and the dog went to order our ales.
The table was at the back of the room, the preferred spot for the more experienced men — keep your back to the wall and your eyes on the crowd. Jackson and I sat in the chairs facing into the room and stretched out our legs.
I scanned the crowd, my eyes lingering on Ansel for just a moment to check his progress, then I attended Jackson.
“How much is the duke paying?” I asked.
“The usual, except there is extra for captain or above.” Jackson leaned close and lowered his voice. We were talking business, and that wasn’t done lightly or loudly.
“I won’t take less than a captain’s fee.” And I meant it. I was prepared to walk away if offered less than I thought my sword and my life were worth.
“Nor I, but I hear there are so many men the duke has his choice of leaders.”
“Few have more experience or skill than you or I,” I assured him.
“We’ll just have to wait until tomorrow. He’ll be opening the gates to his keep then and inspecting the men who have come to hire on.”
“How many does he need?” My eyes returned to Ansel, almost passed, but then stopped.
A young man stood next to him at the bar, his hand on Ansel’s arm, pulling him close to speak in his ear. My gut tightened as I focused on the stranger. Shorter than Ansel, and lighter in weight, his long blond hair worn pulled back into a braid down his back. He wore weapons and riding leath
ers, and I judged he was here to hire on like the rest of us.
Jackson watched me as I watched Ansel.
“Worried about the lad?” His dark eyes bored into mine.
I shrugged. “Just another pup under my wing.”
“I thought you stopped doing that, Drake, taking on the training of young men.” My eyes flicked to his, to be sure I understood his meaning, but his eyes held steady.
“I did. We met at a tavern and were traveling in the same direction. He asked to ride with me and if I would train him.”
“And did you? Train him?” Jackson sat back, and his gaze flicked to Ansel and lingered. “He’s a fine, handsome young man.”
“I train who I wish, Jackson.” My voice was going soft and quiet, as it does when I’m angry. I didn’t appreciate his suggestions or want them spread.
“Of course, Lord Drake.” He gave me a small, seated bow.
“Don’t give me that ‘Lord Drake’ shit, I know you too well.”
“And I know you.” He leaned close and lowered his voice. “Be careful, Drake. You always did care too much for those you trained.”
I wasn’t sure if I should act as if I had no idea what he spoke about, or become outraged. Instead I sat back, tight-lipped, and stared at him, wondering if it was so obvious that a man I hadn’t seen in four years could spot the connection between Ansel and me.
My pup was on his way back with his fists clutched around the handles of three large lagers. The man he’d spoken to was gone. Ansel placed the ales on the table, then pulled out the chair and sat. The dog sat next to him and put his head in Ansel’s lap to be petted.
Jackson picked up his lager and took a sip.
“Thank you, young lord.”
“You’re most welcome. Are you here to sign on?” Ansel took a large gulp of the ale and wiped his mouth on his sleeve.
“Aye, same as you and Drake. Have you a room here?” Jackson leaned back in his chair.
This was not where I wanted the conversation to turn. But Ansel dove in.
“I got a room while I was at the bar, Drake.”
I almost choked on my ale. Clearing my throat, I nodded, and Ansel caught on.