by Cari Z
It surprised Colm some when, far down the docks where no one was there to see them, Nichol reached out and took his hand. Took it, resolutely laced their fingers together, and then looked up at Colm with only slightly nervous eyes.
Colm just smiled again, not really understanding it but not about to say no. He liked the touch, liked it more than he could say, and they walked all the way down the sea wall and back like that, scrambling over boulders and slipping on rocks and holding on to each other the whole time, until Nichol was actually laughing again, for the first time in all of that long month. Colm knew he was a part of that joy, the reason for it, and he felt warmth and pride and love, oh gods, such love for Nichol in that moment.
“I’m glad you’re here,” Nichol said once he’d caught his breath. “I don’t know if I’ve told you that before.”
“Of course you have.”
Nichol rolled his eyes. “But not in clear words, have I? None of this ‘actions are more important than words’ bit you keep going with. I mean, it works for you, but personally I have to say something to know that I mean it.”
Colm shrugged. “I don’t need to hear a truth in order to understand it. If it’s evident in what a person does, then I know better than they could ever assure me.”
“You know, it’s a good thing you don’t seem to fancy girls,” Nichol said plainly, “because that sort of attitude would likely irritate them to no end.”
“I suppose I’m fortunate, then,” Colm said. Nichol finally let go of Colm’s hand and put his own back in his pocket.
“I suppose you are. Now come one, we’d best get back to help before Gran throws us out for being idle wastrels.”
“I can’t imagine what you’d have to do to get Megg to actually throw you out,” Colm commented as they walked along.
“Aye, well, it’s something we can make into a joke because we both know what a lie it is,” Nichol said with a half smile. “My dad died at sea when I was just a lad and my mother passed of a fever not long after.” Colm’s ears perked up a bit. It was rare that Nichol revealed anything new of his childhood. “My mother’s parents wanted to take me and raise me, but I’d been with Gran since I was born, right here at the inn. The family quarters used to be bigger, back when Granddad was alive. I didn’t want to go, but the magistrate gave them the rights to me, and so off I went into the butcher’s district.”
Colm wrinkled his nose. If there was one spot in the city that stank worse than the docks, it was the butcher’s district. All of Caithmor’s slaughtering and tanning went on there, and during the summer, the smell had been so repugnant that enterprising street urchins had made a fortune selling small bouquets of posies to people who had to do business there, to help block the miasma of excrement and death.
“I hated it there. Ran away as soon as I could, straight back to Gran. They’d come for me, haul me back by my hair sometimes, and every time they did, I waited until their guard was down and I left again. After a year of this, they finally kicked me out, and Gran took me right back. She told me there would always be a place for me with her, and I’ve been trying to prove her wrong ever since.” He quirked a smile. “But not too hard.”
“What was your mother like?” Colm asked.
“She was fair, like you, only with more red,” Nichol said. They were getting closer to the Cove, and about time. The darkness was starting earlier and earlier as the days slowly grew shorter. “She was proud of her red. Said it made her more like the king, that she was the king of our house. She told my father once that he could be the queen. She even tied a bonnet to his head.” Nichol laughed. “He was good about it. He danced her around the room and then called me his court jester. He said I had to be a midget I was so small, and was I any good at being funny? I was five at the time. I thought he was hilarious.”
“You favor him in more than your looks,” Colm said as they walked into the courtyard and toward the kitchen.
“I could do worse,” Nichol replied with utterly false modesty. Idra pounced on them the moment they stepped indoors, putting them both to work.
Later that night as they lay together on the cot, Nichol’s head resting against Colm’s shoulder, Nichol whispered, “Do you ever wish you’d known her? Your own mother, I mean?”
“Not often,” Colm replied, perfectly honest. “I had a mother in Desandre. I didn’t pine for another. I can look at myself and see the things that she left within me: the color of my eyes and skin, this ridiculous height. She must have been taller than my father. I wonder about her occasionally, but I never go much beyond that.”
“You do well to favor her,” Nichol told him, and Colm snorted gently. “I mean it.” He was quiet for a moment, then said, “I think we might be lucky, to be the way we are. No parents to be disappointed by us when we don’t meet their expectations, whether it’s in what we choose to do or who we’ve grown to be. Gran accepts me, even when she doesn’t like my choices.”
“It’s possible,” Colm replied. “Although it’s equally possible that we don’t realize how unlucky we are. I don’t know if I’m fulfilling what my father might have wanted for me, but I came down to Caithmor at Desandre’s insistence. She recognized things in me that I’d barely begun to come to terms with myself, and she pointed me in this direction. And I’m very fortunate that she did.” He said the last bit looking squarely at Nichol, expecting him to smile and settle in, go to sleep and continue to ignore the tension that ebbed and flowed between them, comforting but vague.
Nichol didn’t smile. He didn’t look away either, or say anything at all. He just turned his face up and pressed his mouth to Colm’s, a soft, sweet touch of lips that became Colm’s first real kiss. Neither of them closed their eyes, Nichol perhaps because he wanted to see how Colm took it, and Colm because he didn’t want to miss a moment of it, not anything, not the way Nichol’s eyes darkened or how they darted between Colm’s mouth and eyes. It felt like exactly what he’d wanted, without even being sure of exactly what that was.
Nichol finally pulled back and licked his lips. “I think,” he said slowly, “that I might be the fortunate one. Is this all right?” he added fast on the heels of his compliment. “Because I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, you mustn’t let me do that to you, and I know that you would if you thought it was something I wanted, and it is, but I don’t if you don’t. Am I making any sense at all?”
“Very little,” Colm chuckled. “But that’s fine. I understand you anyway, and yes.”
“Yes to what part?”
This, this was why words were useless. They could spend hours hashing out who felt what at which moment and why, when really all Colm needed to do was close the gap between them again and take his second kiss straight from Nichol’s lips, even better and more satisfying than the first. “All of it,” he said when they separated.
“Oh good,” Nichol breathed. “I was hoping you would say that.” He rolled until he was fully on top of Colm, framed his head with his hands and kissed him hard, the gentleness of their early intimacy forgotten as the heat between them continued to build. Colm spread his thighs apart, and Nichol slotted between them with ease, his hips moving back and forth in an unconscious rhythm as he pulled back, licked the seam of Colm’s lips, then nipped them only to dive back in a moment later, openmouthed and eager. Colm let him in, let him all the way in, until their tongues danced and his hips finally began to catch on to the beat that was teasing them.
Nichol was hard and Colm grew along with him, until they were hard together. “Every morning,” Nichol said between kisses, “when I feel you against me, I’ve wanted to do this.”
“Every morning?” Colm gasped as the friction between them increased. He moved his hands down to Nichol’s hips and pulled him even closer, his usually elusive orgasm feeding on the heat between them and building faster than it ever had before.
“Well, perhaps not every morning,”
Nichol said around a groan. “Some mornings I’ve wanted to do this instead.” He reached one of his hands inside of Colm’s drawers, wrapping hot fingers around Colm’s erection and stroking him roughly. Colm stifled the sharp noise that tried to escape his throat and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to hold back for just a little longer.
“Come for me,” Nichol whispered in his ear. His breaths were hot gusts filled with words that set Colm’s brain on fire. “I’ve got you, finally, I’ve wanted you, and you feel so good, come for me, Colm, come now.” And his body, overwhelmed with pressure and pleasure, came at Nichol’s command. He spurted into Nichol’s hand, wet and slick and copious, so long that he saw black spots circle in his vision by the time his body finally quit.
Colm was barely aware of Nichol letting go of him and thrusting his cock into his own hand, wet with Colm’s release. He knew when Nichol came, though, the heightened tension reaching a peak and suddenly collapsing, like a bubble that had been popped.
Nichol sprawled across Colm like he belonged there, like there was no separation between their bodies in his mind and therefore should be no separation in reality. They were sweaty and sticky and undoubtedly smelled, but Colm didn’t care about any of that. They stayed that way, pleasured and weary and content, until Nichol said, “Shall I move, then?”
Colm wrapped his long arms around Nichol’s back and held him even closer, and Nichol giggled. “Understood. I take it you enjoyed it?”
“I think that would be an understatement,” Colm told him. “I’ve—I’ve wanted this. More than I can say.” More than I should say. Now was probably not the time to mention he’d listened in on Nichol and Jaime.
“But not so much that you would say anything.”
“What would’ve been the point? You had Jaime and plans that revolved around him—sailing, fighting, adventure. I didn’t want to disrupt that, even if I could have.”
Nichol lifted his head to look Colm in the eye. “You don’t think much of doing things for yourself, do you?”
“I do think of myself,” Colm said, shifting a little so he didn’t have to meet Nichol’s stare. It felt too knowing. “Just, within reason, that’s all.”
“Within reason. Hmm.” Nichol slid up Colm’s body and kissed him again. “Well, it’s a good thing you’re with me now. I feel perfectly comfortable thinking wildly unreasonable things about you. I’ll share them if you’re particularly good.”
“How good is good?” Colm murmured against Nichol’s mouth, the brief touch enough to begin winding the coil of desire within him tight again.
“I’ll show you,” Nichol replied, and then the words stopped and the only sounds were cut-off exclamations of pleasure and the subtle sound of flesh against flesh as they rutted against each other, hips tight together, until they both came again.
They fell asleep exhausted and woke up stuck together, and Nichol laughed at Colm’s disgusted expression as they peeled themselves apart.
“A hazard of the fun,” he said, shrugging a shirt over his shoulders. “It’ll clean up fast. Come on.”
It was the first time they’d bathed together since Colm’s first full day in the city, and the fact that he had leave to enjoy himself now helped to make it much more pleasurable. Colm still didn’t think he was much to look at, but having permission to look at Nichol was lovely. Touching him was even better, and if the water had been just a bit warmer, or the wind had been a bit calmer, they would have gotten off again right there, against the dark stones of the house with the smells of lye soap and rain and a tinge of acridity from the nearby latrines all mingling in the air. Instead, they washed each other, quickly, and headed inside to the kitchens.
If Megg had an idea of what was going on between them, she gave no indication of it, greeting them as usual, handing over food and sitting down with them for breakfast. “How did you lads sleep?”
“Very well.” Nichol grinned. “Honestly, I must have been exhausted. I could barely lift my head from my pillow.”
“Fine,” Colm replied for his part, feeling himself blush but resolutely not looking in Nichol’s direction.
“Fine, hmm?” Megg looked at him more closely and frowned. “I don’t know, love, you look a bit tuckered out to me. Is that a bruise on your collarbone?” Colm’s hand flew up to cover the mark he’d almost forgotten Nichol gave him as Megg continued. “It’s that floor that’s doing it to you, no doubt. We’ve really got to get you a bed. I know I keep saying it, but it’s true. We could even get a carpenter in here if you want, have him reopen one of the old rooms that used to be connected to the family quarters. The inn won’t suffer much for the loss of a single bed, and that way you’d have your own place.”
“No!” Colm and Nichol both exclaimed. They glanced briefly at each other before Colm continued, “Really, I’m perfectly happy where I am. You don’t need to rearrange everything for me.”
“And we’re trading off on the cot now,” Nichol added. “To make things fair.”
Now here, here came a smile to be nervous about: small, coupled with dark, sparkling eyes and a head tilt that made Colm wonder what was going through Megg’s head, and how much of it was correct. But she just said, “Well, that’s lovely of you, lads. I’m glad you’ve worked things out so well. Now finish eating so I can put you to work on the roof. Some of the shingles have blown clear off, and three of the bedrooms are leaking.” Colm and Nichol gratefully followed her directions and made their escape.
Chapter Fourteen
The season was decidedly autumnal now. The waves rolled more heavily, the air had a bone-chilling bite to it that Colm recognized from the cold seasons in Anneslea, and the traffic in and out of the city was almost entirely local. Those who had come to stay, did stay. Those who meant to leave, had left. Occasionally a courier vessel was sent back from the fleet, bringing news of Iarra’s attempts at conquest on the Garnet Isles. They’d achieved a foothold on the northernmost island, exactly where they needed to have it in order to freely move ships and shift troops, but the Queen of the Garnet Isles, Magdeline O’Clare, had formed an alliance with the King of Speir across the sea, who provided troops and weapons for her cities while her own small fleet harried the larger, less wieldy Muiri ships.
“The poor woman’s caught between two hungry serpents, and I’m afraid her kingdom will be eaten in the end regardless of whom she allies with,” Megg said sadly when Nichol brought in the report. “Iarra is playing this hard, not leaving himself an easy way to retreat. Why else fight a winter war?” The king’s use of tactics in his conquests was a continual source of debate in Caithmor. There were plenty of people who admired his all-or-nothing tactics, but plenty more who had family out there in his navy, the men and boys who were toiling to take control of an island that most of them didn’t really care about.
“Ah, well,” Megg said, shaking her head. “There’s no sense in fretting over it, I suppose. Was there any personal post for you, Nichol?” The undertone of her voice was clearly asking about Jaime, but for the first time in a long time, it didn’t seem to bother Nichol.
“Nothing else,” he said easily. “Anything here at the inn? You’re due for a letter, aren’t you?” he asked Colm.
“I’m overdue,” Colm replied, and the fact that he was bothered him. He did his best to be timely with his own messages, but Baylee was as orderly as the tides, one letter coming regularly every week. It had been close to two now, and still nothing.
“I’m sure everything is fine,” Megg said. “Probably just a problem on the road, or it might have been lost. Without the traders moving about the country, letters are harder to come by. We’ll be lucky to get one a month, and likely none at all when winter hits.”
Colm knew, intellectually, that Megg was being perfectly logical. It didn’t make him feel much better in the moment, though, especially not the thought of losing contact with his family for an entire season. He hadn’t
thought about it… He hadn’t considered that at all, and as much as he knew the separation had been necessary, it wasn’t one he relished.
“You could have one of the priests send a message for you,” Nichol added, using his I’m-trying-to-cheer-you-up voice. “When they pass prayers, it’s supposed to be fairly reliable. It certainly is for Iarra. There’s no way he’s not in contact with his admirals or his regent back here in Caithmor. That’s the most practical magic they’re allowed to do these days.”
“Passing a prayer is expensive,” Colm replied regretfully. “Even if mine got to them, they’d never be able to afford to send one back to me. I’ll keep it in mind, though. It’s always good to have a last resort.”
“And I’ll do my best to keep your mind occupied,” Nichol smirked.
Nichol’s best was positively transportive, the kind of experience that threatened to keep Colm in a euphoric stupor if he wasn’t careful. It had to be obvious to Nichol that Colm had no experience being intimate with another person. Every time they touched, he checked Nichol’s face, unable to fight the part of him that had to make sure Nichol knew who he was, and that he was okay with Colm doing this, having this leeway. Nichol never flinched back, never looked dubious, was never anything except gentle and giving. It was a bit of a surprise considering the little Colm knew about how he and Jaime had gone at each other. Perhaps he wanted to differentiate his lovers further in his mind. Colm wasn’t sure, but he wasn’t going to object. Not yet, anyway.
The first time Nichol used his mouth on Colm, he came almost immediately. It would have been embarrassing if he’d had time to think about it once the aftershocks of his orgasm had faded away, but Nichol didn’t give him the time. He crawled back up Colm’s body—they were lying on the cot, having gotten much more used to its impractical size—and kissed him hard, openmouthed and tongues touching, and Colm tasted the salt-bitterness of his own spend, and he wanted more. “You,” he’d growled, his voice lower than he’d thought it possible to go, “need to let me do that to you.”