The Guild

by Jean Johnson

  About to reply, Alonnen paused, thought, smirked, and stepped back, releasing her. Lifting his hands to his knitted top, he pulled it over his head. “Here, first get yourself naked,” he said. “I’ll do the same. Then I’ll show you how a nose is used—a Tallnose nose,” he amended, “in lovemaking. It’s a skill not every man can train, you know, as most just don’t have the proper appendage.”

  The way he lifted his head, tilting it in arrogant nasal display, made her giggle again. The way he stripped off the rest of the layers concealing his chest made her cover her blush and cover her mouth. That hid most of the smile she simply could not stop from spreading across her lips the moment he bared his winter-pale skin.

  “Come on,” he ordered her, flipping a hand at her own garments. “Off with all of it! Not unless you want them stained with elderberry jelly.”

  “Uh, no.” Focusing on her own clothes, Rexei worked to remove them in the face of her growing nervousness. She glanced at Alonnen. He stripped in a matter-of-fact manner and dropped his clothes onto one of the chairs next to the little table, completely unashamed of his nudity. It made her realize just how comfortable she was with him, given his visible comfortableness with her. “Right.”

  Moving over to the lounging couch, she stripped off her clothes and piled them on the cushions. Everything came off easily, except her breast bindings. The material had tangled somehow; between that and the cool draft she could feel against her naked hips, she was even more anxious to get it off.

  “Shh, shh, I’ve got it. A few loose threads got bound up in the knot,” Alonnen explained, soothing her. His fingers took over from hers on her left side, then he helped her unwind the long strip of linen. He let her drop the wadded material on the couch, but did not touch her. Instead, he merely observed, “You have a very cute bottom. You also have wider hips than one would think.”

  “It’s, uh, the baggy tunics and sweaters and shirts I wear,” Rexei said. Her skin itched, as it always did upon removing the wrappings. Normally she scrubbed at her skin for a minute or so to rid it of the sensation, but with him right behind her . . . The itch didn’t go away. It grew, making her shift her weight and grimace.

  “Is something wrong?” Alonnen asked.

  “Ugh!” Giving in to her greatest urge, Rexei scrubbed her hands over her modest curves, scratching and rubbing at the reddish lines formed by the wrinkles in her breast-bindings. “So itchy!”

  Chuckling, he placed his palms on her back and started scrubbing. “Here, let me help.”

  Startled at first, Rexei relaxed into his efforts with a soft moan of pleasure; it was the one spot she could never reach, and he was now soothing the madness that she had learned by necessity to ignore. “Oh, that feels so good . . .”

  “My pleasure. I’m happy to assist,” he reassured her. His nails scraped lightly for a few strokes, then he shifted his fingers to her ribs. Rexei squirmed a little, until he firmed his touch past the point of tickling. Another happy sigh escaped her, drawing a chuckle out of him. “Hedonist.”

  “Um, yes,” she murmured, blushing. Then felt his hands slipping around to cup her breasts, making the skin of her face feel rather hot. Those fingers wiggled and stroked, making the flesh gently caged in his grip ache with needs she hadn’t really known about before the last few nights. Remembering now how he had played with and kissed her curves, she sighed and leaned back against his naked frame. Only because it was him, Alonnen, did she feel comfortable enough to confess, “I like this part, too.”

  “Mmm, so do I,” he agreed, plumping one small breast. “Barely a palmful, yet so wonderfully sensitive.” He kissed the side of her neck, and played with her other modest curve.

  Being passive wasn’t in her nature. She might run and hide, or she might face down a foe and fight, but Rexei was still doing something about her situation when she did those things; standing still was just not in her nature. Taking care of herself, learning new guild skills, all of these things had taught her to step forward and grasp what she wanted.

  She also wanted Alonnen, and she had the grace to admit that to herself.

  Turning in his arms, Rexei slid her hands over his flesh, exploring every angle and curve. She nipped at his neck and licked along the raspy edge of his jawline, enjoying his musky scent. This felt right, and wonderful, and was exactly what she wanted. “This . . . is where I want to be. In your arms.”

  Alonnen felt it, too, in an upwelling of love, need, and a deep-rooted contentment. He hugged her close, chest to breasts, and just breathed in the soft, slightly spicy scent of the woman in his arms. But when she wrapped her fingers around the heat of his erection, he twitched backwards. It was too much, too intense on the heels of the emotions she had raised.

  “Easy! Easy, I don’t want this to end quickly,” he murmured, soothing her brief frown of disappointment. Beyond her shoulder, he could see the jar of pomade and the jar of preserves. “Actually, now would be a good time to experiment with the elderberry, yes? Which would you rather do, lay out the old sheet or open the jar?”

  “Lay out the sheet. I can act like a young man all day long,” she added, stepping back so that she could pluck the folded linen off the table, “but my wrists aren’t up to the actual task of it. How about on the lounging divan?”

  “That’ll do,” Alonnen agreed, picking up the preserves. He started to twist the cap off easily . . . and failed. Gripping lid and jar more firmly, he grunted twice, trying to loosen the lid. Finally, he got it off but not before provoking a small giggle from his lover over the effort involved. “Oh, very funny. You and I both know the Threefold God of Fate loves a good ironically timed joke.”

  “Then I’m very glad we don’t have the Threefold God as our Patron,” Rexei soothed him, hugging him from behind. The more time she spent with him, the more that hugging—and touching, period—felt natural and normal to her. “Or it would happen much more often, I’m sure.”

  “That does bring up a good point,” he said, turning to follow her back to the couch. “Does Guildra have a sense of humor, O High Priestess?”

  “Guild Master, and of course She does,” Rexei pointed out. “How could She not? She is the Patron Goddess of all the entertainment guilds, as well as all the rest. Actors, Bards, Writers, Poets . . .”

  “And Patron Goddess of Brothels,” Alonnen replied, lifting the opened jelly jar as if it were a glass for a toast. Lowering it, he tilted the mouth toward hers. “Would you like to break the wax and have the first scoop?”

  “I don’t have a spoon,” she told him.

  “You don’t need a spoon. Use your fingers,” he countered.

  She wrinkled her nose and sat down. “But that’ll be messy.”

  “That’s the point,” Alonnen said, and poked at the wax that had been poured on top of the preserve. Working out several chunks, he tossed them onto the small table, then offered her the dark red contents. “Scoop some out, pick a target on either your or my body, and apply it with your fingers—wait,” he added quickly. Stepping closer, he carefully made sure his feet were on a corner of the sheet that had draped over the floor. “Okay, now do it. The point of the sheet is to catch anything that falls, after all.”

  “Right.” She dug her fingers into the cool, firm, slightly grainy jelly. It squished between her fingertips, and a glob threatened to fall off when she scooped some out. Catching it with her other hand, she hesitated, then scooted forward on the sofa and smeared a bit on Alonnen’s chest.

  His muscles contracted under the cool, sticky stuff. Fascinated, she spread the jelly around a bit more, then awkwardly tried to lick it. Sitting, she was too short; standing, she was too tall. With a grin, Alonnen graciously sat down and let her settle next to him so that she could lean over his lap and lick.

  The jelly was a bit strong. She loved it, but she usually ate it smeared thin on toasted bread, not gooped thick on, well, non-toasted man.
Still, she tried a few more licks, then looked up at his face. “Is this . . . good for you? Are you enjoying it?”

  He gave it a moment of thought, then shrugged and lifted his brows. “It’s not bad. Are you having fun?”

  She debated, then bit her bottom lip in a brief grimace. “It’s a bit too tart, to be honest. Maybe I should’ve asked for the birch syrup—I’ll pay you back for the elderberry jar.”

  “It wasn’t that much,” Alonnen pointed out. He nudged her into a normal sitting position, then he twisted to face her. “Here, let me try it.” Scooping out a bit from the jar, he carefully daubed bits of jelly onto her nipple. “Let’s see if you like being on the receiving end.”

  The first few tentative licks felt good. The way he swirled his tongue, too . . . but then he pulled back. Wrinkling his long, pointed nose, Alonnen grimaced.

  “Yeah . . . the flavor’s too tart for this. Let’s clean up and share that tub,” he offered instead.

  Rexei sighed, but let him rise and head for the rounded alcove. “Sorry.”

  “Hey, not your fault,” Alonnen said, shrugging and spreading his arms as he turned to face her while walking backward. “We try new things, and sometimes they work okay, sometimes they work great, and sometimes they fail. Hopefully not spectacularly—and this time wasn’t a disaster—but you’ll never know until you try. We can try the syrup another time, but for now . . . one hot bath, coming up.”

  Rexei rose and put the cap back on the jar; it was still perfectly good jelly, and she would be having toasted bread with her meal when breaking her fast tomorrow. Pulling the old sheet off the couch, she wiped the smear off her breast, then bundled up the fabric and set it on a chair. Big Momma’s had members of the Launderers Guild—a sub-chapter of the Servers Guild—on staff who would take the sheet and the other linens, bleach and scrub everything, and hand it all off to the room cleaners to remake the beds and so forth.

  She had done something similar in the temple, stripping priests’ beds and remaking them with fresh linens once a week, and dumping the dirty linens and velvet clothes into sacks to be taken to a nearby Laundry guildhouse. Here, though, she didn’t have to do any of that if she didn’t want; the staff were paid well, based on what the brothel owner charged for these rooms. Since this wasn’t an emergency, Alonnen had elected to pay for an entire night in one of these rooms for the two of them back when they had arrived at midday.

  Fresh linens, a hot bath, scented soaps . . . Joining him in the alcove, grateful the blinds had been pulled low, Rexei investigated the low table of soft soap pots. Picking one with a spicy smell to it, she added a fancy, soft sea sponge, and held them in one arm. The other, she used to test the water splashing from the faucet into the oversized copper basin. A nod let Alonnen know he had picked a good temperature. She offered him the jar for a sniff and received a nod in return.

  Pleased at her choice, Alonnen let her set the jar and sponge on the broad flared rim at the head of the tub, then climbed in and assisted her over the edge. Both sank down into the heat with little hisses and contented sighs, one at each end of the oval basin. Eyeing her, he contemplated her relaxed nudity, then tapped her hand and flicked his fingers. “C’mere,” he ordered, opening his arms. “Put your back to my chest, and let’s cuddle.”

  Blushing, she smiled and moved. “You really are a very . . . touchy . . . person. As in, you like to touch people. Aren’t you?”

  “Very much so,” he agreed, parting his legs to make room for her to settle between them. His chest was still a little bit sticky from the jelly attempt, but the basin was quite deep, allowing the water to rise up almost high enough to soak the elderberries away. “I feel better when I’m touching someone I like. Happier. It’s like . . . it’s like making a wordless connection, deep with trust, and abiding in affection and caring.

  “And when they touch me, when they reach out to me and I don’t have to start it? Then I know they care about me.” Gently wrapping his arms around her ribs, he nuzzled his jawline against her steam-dampened hair. “I love sex, don’t get me wrong—and don’t deny either of us the pleasure of it,” he teased lightly, “but just a simple, honest, cuddlesome hug conveys as much love or more. Actually, more. I could get a dozen women to grease my piston with their hands, simply because of my rank and their own desire to rise in the ranks somehow. Hell, a dozen men. But a hug? That’s something special.”

  Rexei grunted, dropping her head back onto his shoulder. “Ugh . . . why do you tell me this when I’m facing away from you? And in a bathtub? If I tried to turn around now to hug you, it’d be all awkward elbows and mangling knees and unwelcome bruises for both of us.”

  He chuckled and squeezed her. “We’ll have plenty of time for hugs. Right now, I’m going to enjoy the heat of this bath a little bit more, then help you scrub the elderberry preserves off our hides. Then . . . I’m going to clean your cute little bottom.”

  “My bottom is not little,” she muttered. “My hips are a little bit too wide for someone trying to pretend to be a boy. I have to wear long, baggy tops to hide it.”

  “The part I’m interested in is cute and little,” he asserted, sliding a hand down to her hip. “These lush bits are lovely for grabbing on to, but it’s the little cog-star between your cute nethercheeks to which I’m referring.”

  His words reminded her of what they were going to do. “I, uh . . . heard it can be painful. Um, using that one.”

  “It can be, if you don’t go slowly, don’t take time to gently loosen it, and definitely if you don’t use any pomade or such,” Alonnen admitted. “The other way is faster, easier, and better-feeling, but it carries the long-term risk of babies.” Shifting his hand to her belly, he rested it there for a moment, then hugged her around the ribs. “As much as part of me wants a couple of little Rexeis running around—boy or girl, doesn’t matter—the greater part of me knows we still have some serious problems to clear up before we can go that far.”

  She nodded, turning her head just enough so that her forehead caressed the side of his jaw. “You’re right, we shouldn’t. And . . . um . . . well, I trust you to take your time, go slow, and . . . um . . . pomade. We should have grabbed the jar of pomade.”

  “Yes and no; it might be helpful to clean up a little, first,” he told her, and slipped his other hand between her nethercheeks for a subtle tickle.

  Sucking in a startled breath, Rexei squirmed a little in surprise. She forced herself to stop and relax. “Wait . . . Is my shoulder blade sticky?”

  “You’re the one who leaned against me without cleaning off the jelly, first,” he teased lightly.

  “Fine. Just for that, you have to scrub my back,” she mock ordered. “And anywhere else I want.”

  Without a word, he reached behind him, groped for the soft yet scratchy tuft of sea sponge, gently soaked it in the hot water—and applied the sopping thing against her head and face in several rapid, gentle pats, splattering water everywhere. Yelping and spluttering, Rexei twisted around and splashed at him in affront. Since he was laughing at the time, he coughed from a mouthful of liquid, but she didn’t show much mercy when she splashed him again, so he splashed her back.

  The water fight was somewhat short; very noisy with shrieks, shouts, and laughter; very wet; and glorious fun. When it ended, it did so because Rexei slipped and splashed face-first against him, breasts to chest, her legs straddling one of his. Just like that, the playful mood between them snapped amorous.

  This time, she didn’t wait for him to make the first move. Gripping the rim of the tub for leverage, Rexei pulled herself up the last two inches and claimed his mouth. The shift in position allowed his manhood to slide along her belly and nudge between her thighs. Aroused, she parted her legs and straddled his hips, never quite ending the kiss, though their lips parted for fractions of a second here and there.

  Wrapping his arms around her, Alonnen held her close wh
ile they kissed. Eventually, he urged her higher. Nibbling on her neck, tasting the little water droplets that clung to her collarbone, he sunk just slow enough so that she straddled his waist, bringing her small breasts into the range of his lips.

  As before—as with every time—the moment his mouth brushed her skin, she shivered. The moment he licked, she shuddered. And the moment he suckled, Rexei moaned, swamped by the pleasure his simple touch evoked. A shift of his hands curved them under her rump for support, allowing him to increase the lovemaking he applied to her chest.

  Her breasts were so sensitive, she was flushed and panting with pleasure before she realized what his fingers were doing. When she did, Rexei gasped. Two of them—not just one, but two—had slipped into her . . . and they were . . . !

  Before she could do more than tense, he pulled his mouth off her nipple with a smacking kiss and murmured, “There, all the jelly’s gone. Or would you rather I used soap?”

  His fingers wiggled impudently just inside her cog-star, ruining any chance of a coherent reply. Eyes wide, Rexei looked down at him. “That . . . That feels . . .”

  “Yes?” Alonnen asked her, smirking. “It feels . . . how?”

  “Disturbingly good,” she confessed, blushing. It did. It was embarrassing, but it did. He had slipped two fingers into her netherhole, a spot on her body far more associated with refreshing rooms than bedrooms, and . . . and she was enjoying it. Rexei had heard from several sources over the years that it could be pleasurable, but she hadn’t been completely sure it would indeed be so. Now, she knew.

  “Well, the other way’s even better, but we make do with what we have,” Alonnen told her. “Now, if you can reach the soap behind my head and find the sponge, we’ll continue cleaning up . . . and then have lots of fun getting dirty all over again.”

  His grin was difficult to resist. Complying, Rexei stretched past him . . . and found her nipple nibbled by his lips even as her fingers closed on the jar of lightly scented soft soap. It wasn’t easy to concentrate, but she found the sponge as well, groping through the water. Applying one to the other, she . . . forgot what she was supposed to do when his free hand slipped between their bellies and stroked that little nub between her legs. Forgot in favor of trembling and moaning, overwrought by pleasure.