A Promise of Garnets in Winter

by Camilla Bruce

  Nethel glanced at the soldiers, though; he could not help but want to know where they were, how they looked at him. He saw it glitter in their eyes when the flickering flames illuminated their faces. But he saw no sign of alarm. No suspicious gazes in their direction.

  When Ylv opened the gate, Nethel slipped outside, and, hidden by the heavy shadows under the wall, Ylv did the same. Hopefully the soldiers would not notice what had happened until a few minutes, or even just seconds, has passed. It was all they needed. Just a head start.

  Nethel had tied his horse around the corner from the prison gate. He had been hoping there would be two when he came back. He had not taken time to arrange for another horse, but his stallion was fine. He could carry them both, and fast at that. The animal neighed and moved uneasily when he sensed Ylv, but Nethel calmed him with a few gentle words, and without further hesitation he mounted the horse and waited for Ylv to do the same.

  The tall man seated himself behind the Prince on the horseback. His arms wound around Nethel's waist and the Prince could feel the warmth of the savage's breathing on his neck.

  Nethel spurred the horse and they quickly left the prison walls, riding fast through the streets, towards the city gate, and further, into the woods. Nethel encouraged the horse with loud cries as they raced through the underbrush, the hooves leaving an all-too-easy trail on the snowy ground.

  Faster, faster, and further away. Nethel pushed the horse to its limits. He felt Ylv behind him, effortlessly following his every move, molding against his body. The larger body shielded and warmed him. Unconsciously, he pressed himself closer against the other. Rubbed his rear against Ylv's abdomen as they continued their escape.

  A sudden fear caught in Nethel's heart as they passed between snow-covered pines and naked birches. What if it was all just an illusion? If he was nothing but a tool for this cunning man? Would he kill him now? Cast him aside? Reject him like a love-struck maid? Nethel tensed up and clenched his jaw at the thought of it. Ylv's arms tightened their grip around his waist and he felt somewhat better, but not all right.

  At last, when the sun had traveled far up in the sky, they arrived on an open clearing in the woods. A drift of snow was in the air now, erasing their tracks. Just in time, Nethel thought; the stallion was exhausted and could not go on.

  Neither could he. He was feeling sick from it all. The tension and the suspense, the long ride... the desire for his companion that tormented him so. Nethel wanted to give in now, for good or for bad. He felt so tired, so weak from his sudden doubts. If he was to be rejected then it would be so, no matter what he did or said. He could not have done things otherwise, though both his body and his soul had longed for Ylv. He had been drawn like a moth to the flame. Now it was time to pay the price.

  He slid off the horse's back and gave the stallion's flank a gentle slap. He had been a good friend, and done well to carry them as far. Nethel avoided looking at Ylv's face. Suddenly shy again, his heart was racing. The huge man jumped off the horse's back too, and stood right in front of the Prince, legs spread widely; the prison guard's cloak was wrapped around his torso in an attempt to keep the wind and snow from his naked chest.

  The horse wandered off towards a small stream that curled through the clearing, running happily between shards of thin ice and pitch black stone.

  With a nervous glance in Ylv's direction, Nethel began opening the silver clasps of his cloak with numb fingers. He could not think of anything to say that would cover what he felt. What he wanted. He let his cloak drop to the ground, shrugging the heavy wool off his shoulders. Then he looked up at Ylv. The fighter's face was serious; he didn't smile. He bent down and picked up Nethel's cloak, and brushed the snow from the fabric.

  Nethel began unlacing his waistcoat and the white shirt next. His gaze was daring now, hard and determined. Finally he challenged the fighter himself. Called him out to face him. He walked slowly backwards through the ankle-deep snow; towards a naked bed of black soil and red and yellow moss under a huge pine tree. His gaze finally locked with Ylv's. The blond was silent and his face expressionless, but his eyes were alive, glittering green.

  "You can kill me," Nethel said. "Or you can make use of me... I do not care which you'll chose."

  "You are a liar," Ylv replied, and smiled slightly. "You do not strip down so I can kill you."

  "How do you know?" Nethel tossed his head. He was still walking backwards, pulling the thin, white fabric from his arms.

  "I can smell you." Ylv came closer. "I know what you want." His eyes narrowed dangerously.

  "And will you give it to me?" the Prince asked breathlessly as he dropped the white shirt to the ground.

  "I will." Ylv's nostrils flared and he suddenly leapt forth, landing in front of the Prince. "As much as you desire me," he said. "I desire you more!" There was nothing calm about him now. His gaze was burning, his cheeks were flushed. He leaned down and pressed his lips against the throbbing vein on Nethel's neck. The Prince gasped. The lips were so hot, the air so cold. The Prince shivered with delight and his hands clutched at the cloak covering the other man's back. Ylv's tongue left hot trails on Nethel's skin. He was licking his way up to Nethel's ear, catching his earlobe between his teeth, and breathing heavily into the sensitive shell.

  The wet warmth and intimacy made Nethel grow hard and he moaned again, pressing his body against Ylv's. The muscular man embraced him by the waist and held him tightly, lifting him up from the ground so he stood on his toes when Ylv finally kissed him.

  It was still snowing. The puffy, white flakes drifted through the air on a chilly gust of wind. The snow melted on Nethel's skin and nested in his black hair while he basked in the heat of Ylv's kisses. Hot lips were hard on his own. The saliva-slick tongue was chasing his, deliciously teasing it, feeling its texture. Yes, he believed in Ylv's desire. The man’s kisses left no doubt. No room for lies in these acts. Nethel's upper body was naked, but he did not feel cold. He was covered and shielded by Ylv. The man was pure heat, as if burning from inside. The slanted eyes looked like smoldering, green embers, shot through with liquid gold. Nethel felt the power of those eyes like a strong drug, drowning him in passion, bringing him even further down that trail of lust.

  He sighed and kissed Ylv eagerly in return. His hands traveled up his back and laced in the unruly blond hair. The Prince closed his eyes briefly and let his body mold against the other's. Such a sweet surrender in this. This giving in to his body. Giving himself to the other man, no more doubts and no more fright. He had cast the dice and there was no turning back.

  Ylv lifted him up from the ground. Nethel was no small man. He was lithe but tall, yet the champion was effortlessly walking with him in his arms, the few last steps to the chosen pine. Still kissing, Ylv dropped the woollen cloak to the wet ground and set Nethel down again, his feet on the fabric.

  "Lie down," Ylv murmured, and loosened the lacings at the neck of the prison guard's cloak. His gaze was fixed on the Prince, and his nostrils flared again, making him look threatening. Yet Nethel was not afraid. Just aroused.

  He knelt on the cloak, looking up at his lover. Saw him shed the thin cloak to the wind. It was blowing heavier now; the air caught the worn linen and sent it flying across the clearing. Under their tree it was quiet, though; the thick trunk and the many branches saw to that.

  Ylv's chest was sculpted and strong; his nipples were hard and deep red in color. Dark blond hair spread in a wavy pattern from his navel and up, and down into his trousers. Nethel could see the outlines of Ylvs member, straining against the leather. It had a size to match the rest of the man, and it was undoubtedly reacting to him, in the same way that Nethel was reacting to Ylv. The sight made a sudden pang of new excitement explode in his gut and set his crotch on fire. He parted his lips to let out a sigh. He wanted to touch it, but held himself back.

  Ylv knelt as well now, facing Nethel. They embraced again, tightly, rubbed their chests together so their nipples met and greeted, rolled across ea
ch other eagerly. They kissed, and Ylv bit into Nethel's lower lip, catching it between his teeth. He pressed his crotch against the Prince's, having one thigh placed on each side of Nethel's, catching his body with his own. They were demanding, his caresses: eager and rough, fueled by pure need and not a desire to be gentle and good.

  Nethel met his hard thrusts with his own hips, pressed his velvet-clad arousal against the leather-covered one of the other. Allowed him to rub as hard as he liked, enjoying the sensation of feeling him and his lust. A harsh sound rose from Ylv's throat and his hands drifted down Nethel's back, across the slick fall of hair and the white skin. With a deep sigh, he pushed his hands forcefully down Nethel's trousers, cupping his buttocks and squeezing them hungrily, pressing the Prince's abdomen even closer to his own.

  Nethel gave an outburst of delighted surprise. He felt impatient and eager and loved the feeling of the warm palms caressing his behind. "More," he whispered between their kisses. "I need more."

  Ylv growled and then he smiled. One hand drifted up Nethel's back toward Nethel’s neck, motioning for the Prince to lean back. His head dipped down and his tongue roamed the white, smooth chest of the other, catching one of Nethel's puckered nipples with his lips. His tongue played with it, teeth tugged at it.

  "Oh God," Nethel breathed. He was moaning deeply. "I cannot stand you torturing me so!" His hips were moving rhythmically, rubbing against Ylv's. He reached down with one hand now, pushing the fabric of his own trousers down so the head of his member became visible. It was deep in color, wet from moisture, and the scent of his arousal instantly filled the air between them.

  Ylv gave a harsh cry; he let the little nipple go with a final, hard tug, and threw his head back, nostrils flaring. His hand slid from Nethel's rear to his front, taking a hold of the twitching member and pumping it roughly.

  Nethel leaned back on his elbows. "Don't make me come!" He begged. "Not yet! Please!" He fought with the desire. Fought with the waves threatening to rise in him and crash down like water on a shore. He closed his eyes and tried to breathe evenly, tried not to let the pleasure consume him. "Please..." he murmured again. He could hear the sound of it, the wet noises when Ylv pleasured him. The rhythmic sounds of male flesh being worked by a strong and experienced hand. Ylv sat back and Nethel spread his legs as much as possible to give that hand more space. Ylv's other hand was pushing the velvet further down, exposing Nethel's parts to the chilly winter air. Goosebumps formed on his skin, but it did not prevent pleasure from coursing through him, it just prevented him from coming.

  "Have me!" Nethel begged.

  "You talk too much!" Ylv whispered hoarsely, and he smiled. "I will stop your chatter!" He grinned widely now and let Nethel's member go. He touched his own arousal instead, caressing it through the leather, then he snapped the cord keeping the trousers in place around his waist. His member was thick and dark. The veins in his foreskin drew patterns of blue across the surface. The slit at the top was deep and a rich-smelling blend of musk was dribbling from it, slicking the head. "Touch it!" Ylv breathed. "Take it in your mouth!"

  Nethel shifted; he leaned forth until he stood on his fours, and licked at the salty skin surrounding the base of the member. He buried his nose in the blond curls, licking at the heavy sack, sucking at the large stones, caressing them in his mouth. He whimpered and sighed, slicking the skin with his saliva. He licked the arousal last, teasing it at first and playing his tongue around the base. Ylv's fingertips massaged his scalp, urging him on as his tongue moved higher up on the shaft. Finally the sensitive head slipped into his mouth and lay on Nethel's tongue like a blood-filled, salty egg to kiss and suck. Nethel took as much of the member as he could into his mouth and began bobbing his head up and down the hard length. He let Ylv set the pace, guide him with his hands in Nethel's hair. He buried his tongue in the slit, coaxing beads of sweet juices from his champion's body. He moaned loudly with the member between his lips, the slick skin disappearing and reappearing from the wet, warm cave of his mouth, and he heard Ylv do the same.

  "Wet it!" Ylv bid him in a hoarse voice. "You must make it wet," he said.

  Nethel did as he was told and drenched the member in spit, bathed it in warm fluid until it was dripping from the shaft. Then Ylv grabbed a hold of the member and pumped the wet rod a few times. "Turn around," he told Nethel. "You will have what you wish." He smiled down at the Prince with a wicked expression.

  All thoughts of grace and dignity gone now, Nethel crawled around on the cloak, presenting his rear and the sight of his full sack to the large man behind him. He gave a shout of surprised pain when a spit-slick finger came to press against his little opening. It slipped inside easily enough, and Ylv pleasured him with it, moving it in and out of his rear and rubbing it over that good place inside of him.

  Ylv did not do it for long, though. The slickness on his member would soon be gone, but he kissed Nethel before he entered, pressed his lips against the opening of Nethel's rear and pushed his tongue inside the tight ring, moistening it and loosening it.

  Nethel sighed and pressed his behind against Ylv's face. The sensation of the flickering tongue and the rhythmical insertion of the slick muscle made him all hard again. A throbbing ache filled his loins and he felt about as ready to come again as he had been before when Ylv touched him.

  Nethel screamed when the thick head of the other's member pushed inside of him, but it was a scream of bliss more than of pain. He had wanted this. Yearned for it. Finally his body was joined with the other's, filled with his lust, and it felt good. Nethel rested on his elbows, his rear up in the air, and struggled to keep still while the large body behind him moved and thrust and buried deeper and deeper inside. The intrusion was both violent and sweet. The hands on his hips showed no mercy, but pulled him roughly closer.

  Ylv moaned loudly every time he thrust inside, every time he conquered another inch.

  Nethel's eyes fluttered shut and his breathing became rapid and shallow; he clutched at the cloak beneath him, struggled to spread his legs wider despite the trousers that limited his movements. Ylv's hands left his hips now and he could feel them on his rear, where fingers separated his buttocks and held them wide apart while the rod pounded between them. Ylv was probably watching it, Nethel thought, and the thought of that made him even more aroused. He wanted to touch himself but the position was awkward. Instead, he made complaining sounds, trying to catch his lover's attention.

  "Touch me," he begged at last," please, touch me!"

  "Ah!" Ylv used two of his fingers on the left hand to still keep the buttocks apart. The other hand he let slide down Nethel's side and around his hip to curl around the yearning member that hung under Nethel’s stomach, heavy and ripe. He pumped fast as his thrusting increased in pace. Ylv was leaning over Nethel's back now, with one hand on his hip and the other squeezing and working Nethel's member, making it drip fresh juices down onto the dark cloak.

  For each thrust, Nethel moaned, and for every caress, he sighed. He lay his head down on the cloak, unable to keep it lifted. His hands were curled into fists and he bit into his knuckles when the semen shot from his member and coated Ylv's hand and his own abdomen in liquid.

  Ylv growled and thrust a few more times, so hard that Nethel's cheek rubbed painfully against the rough fabric of the cloak. He braced himself and did not scream, but despite the pain he was throughout content when he felt Ylv filling his rear with salts and fluid. Their space under the pine tree smelled of arousal and rich amounts of semen, wet wool and sweat. Nethel lay still; Ylv was frozen as well. Nethel felt the hard body against his backside, the throbbing of his veins, the damp skin, and finally he relaxed. His body was sated at last, his desire was resting, and he felt safe. Content. And with a conviction that this was all right. Fate, luck or destiny... this was where he was supposed to be.

  Ylv showered him with kisses in the sweet aftermath. Licking the warm semen off long fingers, Ylv then kissed Nethel's chest, his neck and his face. His sore
and swollen lips. His eyelids and his brow.

  "I love you..." Nethel said.

  "And I love you," Ylv replied. “I always have..."

  "Are you here about the promise?" Nethel asked.

  "What promise?" Ylv pulled him closer and rolled them both in the cloak, tightly together in the warm wool.

  "The one my mother made and could not undo before she died." The Prince snuggled closer, savoring the scent of Ylv's neck.

  "As white as snow, black as ebony and red as blood and garnets, I remember..." Ylv's dark voice spoke.

  "She said that sometimes one made promises one did not wish to keep... promises one made but always intended to find a way to break. She died before she could do that. She told me not to hate her, when the promise was to be kept."

  "You loved her, did you not?" Ylv asked.

  "I adored her," Nethel replied softly.

  "And so she got what she wished for that day... A beautiful, loving son..."