Tyv took Eirik’s hand and kissed the gold ring on his finger. Eirik smiled and swooped in to seize a kiss from Tyv’s mouth. He fumbled to remove Tyv’s pants as they kissed. Tyv kicked off his wool stockings and underclothes, and Eirik pushed him down onto the bed. Eirik ran his hands up and down the length of Tyv’s body until he writhed and fisted the quilts below them.
Tyv closed his eyes and turned his head to the side. He focused on the sensation of Eirik’s hands, warm and callused from sword fighting, as they massaged Tyv’s inner thighs. Eirik spread Tyv’s legs wide and kissed up one leg and down the other. He slipped away from the bed to get the oil and drizzled a slight amount onto Tyv’s erect cock.
Eirik worked the oil into Tyv’s skin until Tyv whimpered in pleasure. Then he poured more oil into his hand and worked his fingers around Tyv’s asshole. When Tyv’s skin was slick and gleaming in the lamplight, Eirik gave his fingers a final splash of oil and slipped one into Tyv’s ass.
Tyv exhaled as Eirik’s finger slid in and out of him. Then Eirik added a second, and Tyv sucked in a breath as his asshole stretched to accommodate the added width. Moth wings flickered in his belly with each thrust of Eirik’s fingers.
“Did you read about this too? In one of those filthy novels you like so much?”
“Yes.” Eirik bit his bottom lip, his gaze locked on the sight of his fingers plunging into Tyv’s asshole up to the second knuckle and back out again. “Shall I try a third?”
“You’re thick, so perhaps that’s best.”
Eirik applied more oil. It spilled down Tyv’s crack and the blankets soaked it up, but Tyv was grateful when his skin stretched as Eirik maneuvered a third finger inside of him.
“Oh lord.” Tyv sucked in a sharp breath.
He drew his weak legs toward his body in order to spread them wider. He tingled inside as Eirik pumped into him, and he wanted his cock to be touched.
“Do you need more time?” Eirik asked.
“I want you inside me,” Tyv said.
Eirik pulled his hand away and started stroking oil onto his own cock. He guided his member to Tyv’s hole and circled his cockhead around the circumference of Tyv’s entrance.
Tyv fisted the blankets again, nerves and excitement warring in his chest. Then Eirik eased in, and Tyv called out in surprise. He imagined it was what a rabbit might experience while being gutted, yet at the same time, Tyv wanted to feel it again. Eirik slipped out and gave Tyv a second chance to feel the rushing pressure slamming inside him. Tyv grunted. He knew what to expect the second time and found the pressure inside him to be strange but welcome.
On the third thrust, Eirik sheathed himself to his base. Tyv called out again. Eirik paused and lowered until their chests pressed together. He placed a delicate kiss on Tyv’s mouth and then a second. The kisses distracted Tyv, and when the next thrust came, he moaned against Eirik’s lips.
Eirik rocked his hips, continuous and steady. Air huffed from Tyv’s mouth. Each slam of Eirik’s hips felt better and better and better, until Tyv yearned for more. He reached up and clutched Eirik’s shoulders. He stumbled his hands down Eirik’s back and cupped around the curve of Eirik’s ass. Tyv groped and grabbed and pulled Eirik closer to his body. With each tug of his hands, he encouraged Eirik to go harder and deeper.
A groan rumbled from deep within Eirik’s chest. He shifted his weight to one forearm so he could slip his hand between them and hold Tyv’s dick. Sparks sizzled along every nerve in Tyv’s body the moment Eirik’s hand wrapped around his cock.
“My lord! Oh, Eirik! Yes!”
Eirik’s strokes were clumsy, but his hips were not, and even with the haphazard rushing movement of his hand, Tyv whirled into ecstasy. When he came, it was like waiting for the first blossoms to burst from their buds in the spring, green, green, green, and a spray of petals all at once. Tyv fought for air, the come hot but cooling on his belly.
“Can I go faster?” Eirik also breathed hard, bracing himself above Tyv’s body with both hands.
Tyv nodded, his voice lost as he caught his breath. Eirik rocked back again and rammed forward. He built up speed until he was roaring like a summer storm. Tyv raised his hands over his head. He held on to the blankets beneath him, dug his heels into the mattress, and hitched his body upward with Eirik’s every thrust. Tyv squeezed his ass with each hitch, clinging around Eirik’s fat cock.
A groan slipped from Eirik’s mouth and stretched out long as he slammed his eyes shut and opened his mouth wide and came inside Tyv for the first time. Sweat fell from his forehead like tears of joy, and he collapsed onto Tyv’s chest. Tyv coiled his arms around Eirik, locking them together in a fierce embrace.
“No more slipping out the window before dawn,” Tyv whispered into Eirik’s hair. “Tonight, I stay until morning.”
Eirik tightened his hold around Tyv’s chest. They lay together as their breathing calmed. Once the sweat evaporated from their bodies and the night’s chill pricked at their skin, they kicked up the blankets from beneath them and swaddled together and slept, not minding the oil that coated their skin.
In the morning, Eirik dressed in his sleeping robes and called a servant to rebuild the hearth fire and draw a bath for them. Tyv stayed beneath the quilts to keep warm despite the morning chill. He'd never had nightclothes and had no intention of dressing until after his bath, but he didn’t mind because Eirik’s bed was goose down and he was comfortable where he was.
“Come and bathe with me.” Eirik tugged at a curl jutting out from Tyv’s head to encourage him to get up.
“Comfortable,” Tyv murmured into his pillow.
“I will wash you if you bathe with me.”
“That would be beneath your social standing.” Tyv pushed himself up and winked at Eirik.
“So is bedding a thief.”
Tyv stumbled to the copper tub and swung his leg over the lip. He winced at the water. It smelled of frankincense and loganberry, but the water singed his skin.
“You just wanted me to go first to see how hot the water was.” Tyv swung his other leg in and crouched down, waiting for his skin to adjust to the temperature.
“And? How’s the water?”
“It doesn’t burn half as much as my heart when I think of you.”
Eirik’s mouth dropped. He turned away, but that only exposed the color tinting his cheek. Tyv beckoned Eirik to him, and Eirik took measured steps toward the tub. He stepped in as if the heat didn’t bother him and sank down until he sat in Tyv’s lap facing him. Eirik grabbed a washcloth and dabbed at Tyv’s chest and shoulders.
“There’s one more thing I need you to steal from this place before we can truly marry.”
“Eirik, that’s cruel. What else could you possibly have me steal? Your gold? Your tapestries? The sheets off your bed as you sleep in them?”
Eirik raised up his face. His smile brightened the silver tones in his eyes as he answered. “Me. Steal me away. Take me somewhere warm where we can have adventures until our hair is as gray as the ice at the end of winter.”
Tyv sank deeper into the water in relief. “Very well. I never plan on stealing from you again, so after breakfast, give me a cart, and I’ll go and fetch the treasures I have hidden, and I’ll return to you with that and a wedding gift.”
“A wedding gift? What is it?” Eirik asked as he scrubbed Tyv’s arms and hands.
“You would ruin the surprise?”
“I have had enough surprises as of late.”
“I sold all your other horses, but I kept Sommer.”
“Really?” Eirik dropped the cloth, his stare locked onto Tyv’s face. “I feared you sold him to spite me for my unfair test.”
“I wouldn’t do that to you. I knew you were spoiled when I started this game.” Tyv grinned.
Eirik grabbed Tyv’s face and kissed him. They finished bathing each other and dressed before going into the dining room for breakfast. Nelli served them herself, crying into her apron when her hands were free because
she knew she’d lost a master, but when Eirik told her to stop her tears, she told him she didn’t have to listen to him anymore.
Other servants found excuses to go into the dining room during their breakfast, pushing little saint charms into Eirik’s hands and swearing they’d protect him in his travels. He shot Tyv a helpless look, wanting to escape from all his servants’ sentimental goodbyes. Tyv only chuckled and abandoned Eirik to them. Outside, he saddled Snøfall so he could go and fetch his things and Eirik’s horse.
He returned to find a carriage waiting near the manor, loaded with chests of fine clothes and antiques and drawn by four new horses.
“Eirik, you packed half your manor.”
“I did no such thing. I only packed the essentials.”
“This is not how one adventures to new lands.”
“You'd better make it the way we adventure, Master Thief, if you want me to travel with you.”
“Spoiled,” Tyv muttered under his breath as he stowed his mere three bags in the carriage amongst Eirik’s hoard of chests.
“It’s your last chance to abscond without me.”
“I refuse. You’re mine forever.” Tyv pulled Eirik close and kissed him before leading him to the front of the carriage. Eirik threw his head back and laughed the entire time.
And they rode down the road until they reached the three-tined fork. They went neither west, nor east, but rather traveled straight, and no thieves dared attack the carriage. They’d all heard the tales of the red-cloaked master of thieves who could steal the shift off a woman’s bosom as she slept next to her husband in their own marriage bed.
Tyv and Eirik didn’t stop until they reached the harbor and boarded the first ship sailing south to warmer lands. They found somewhere warm, somewhere where they drank rum, and had adventures until their hair faded to the color of iron, as gray as the ice at the end of winter.
About Sita Bethel
Sita Bethel loves writing fiction and hates writing biographies. She feels like they all tend to sound the same when read out loud—like a bad gothic meme. Sita Bethel now suspects that author bios are actually bad gothic memes. No writer enjoys writing biographies, and yet still we write them. We have always been writing them. Sita Bethel has been writing this bio for over an hour now and will probably be writing another one by the time anyone sees these words.
Email: [email protected]
Facebook: www.facebook.com/sitabethelfiction
Twitter: @sita_bethel
Website: www.sitabethel.com/
Other books by this author
“Angels in Delaware” within Beneath the Layers
“Dressed in Wolf Skin” within Into the Mystic, Volume Two
The True Love Curse
Tray Ellis
For my engineer
ONCE UPON A time, in a golden land, there existed a beautiful capital city with a sprawling royal palace set like a shining beacon within its heart. Its silver-white walls and turrets rose high to catch the light of the sun. The wind never seemed to tire of fluttering the pennants of the royal family and the national flag that rose high on a pole above the roofs. Shops, mansions, businesses, and schools surrounded the beautiful palace in a spiraling sprawl. Along each street and around every corner were signs of opulence and great fortune.
But not everything in the heart of the kingdom was perfect. The majestic city had a single, great sadness. The prince of the royal family was gravely ill.
On the edge of the hustle and bustle, in the last house before paved street turned into a hardened dirt road, lived Clara Hammond. She did not have time to think about the opulence of the buildings nor the great fortune of the majority of its inhabitants. She also did not spend much time thinking about the tragedy of the mysterious illness that had befallen their prince. There was nothing much she could do about either situation. She had her own problems to worry about.
Clara’s problems began shortly after sunrise and didn’t end until many hours after supper. Then, she often spent sleepless nights tossing and turning while she worried over money, or rather the lack of it. The house she inhabited badly needed restoration. Its ramshackle roof barely kept the rain off her and her three stepsons who resided within. The windows didn’t close completely, and drafts breezed through. The three boys, Henryk, John, and Beaumont, remained constantly hungry, and their pantry was consistently bare. They were the sons of her deceased second husband and his first wife. He’d left her with three growing stepsons, a dilapidated house, and a lot of debts.
“Henryk! John! Beaumont!” Clara called up the staircase. “Breakfast is ready!”
She poured water into the pot and stirred the porridge. Then she ladled the thinned porridge into bowls and put those on the table with a spoon beside each.
Footsteps pounded on the stairs. For once, the three of them were coming down when called, rather than needing her to call up multiple times.
“Good morning,” Clara said as they filed into the room. She tried to say it brightly, but it sounded hollow to her ears. There really wasn’t much to be optimistic about lately, but she figured being pessimistic wouldn’t get her farther along.
“Yeah,” said Beaumont.
“Yeah,” said John.
“Good morning, Clara,” said Henryk.
He had dark circles under his eyes that told of his staying up into the evening to study. He kissed Clara on the cheek and then sat down to eat. Of her stepsons, he looked the least like his father but was the most like him in temperament. All three boys had dark brown eyes and light brown hair, but Beaumont and John had round faces that scrunched up when they laughed, showing off the strong cleft in their chins. Outside of her presence, Clara knew Beaumont and John chased her chickens for fun and raised a ruckus whenever possible. She could hear their laughter from a block away when they pulled a stupendous trick. Henryk’s face rarely creased in laughter. He took himself far more seriously, and his longer face matched that work ethic. Clara couldn’t remember hearing him laugh since before his father died. She supposed he didn’t have a lot to be merry about.
“There isn’t any milk today,” Clara said. “But the chickens have been laying, so there may be eggs for dinner. Perhaps bread if there are enough eggs to trade.”
“I’m tired of porridge!” Beaumont pushed his bowl away. “I’ll return later.” He pulled on his jacket and walked out the door, leaving the porridge barely touched on the table.
“Me too,” John said, although he tucked two spoonfuls of the porridge into his mouth as he stood and followed after his brother. His bowl was left three-quarters empty on the table.
“I think they steal pies from Mrs. Kimble’s bakery,” Henryk said. “She hasn’t caught them yet, but we’ll owe her restitution if she ever does.”
Clara sighed. “If there are extra eggs, I’ll bring her some later.”
Henryk finished his bowl of porridge. Clara knew it would be his only meal of the day. Unlike his younger brothers, Henryk wouldn’t steal to feed himself, and he would not spend the small amount of money he had on food when he needed it for his studies. He wanted to become a lawyer like his father, although he insisted it would be one who kept better accounts and was not so softhearted that he rarely asked for payment.
Henryk took his bowl from the table and set it near the sink. He straightened his clothing and squared his shoulders. Then he set off for the day.
Clara gathered the uneaten porridge and brought it out to the chickens. Mostly the chickens ate the worms and bugs in the yard, but the grainy porridge would be a welcome addition to their diet. Beaumont and John often commented on how much they would like chicken pie for supper, but Clara knew for the time being the hens were worth much more as egg layers than on their plates. Shortsighted Beaumont and John might want chicken pie, but they would never come outside to do the difficult work of killing and plucking feathers, so her chickens stayed safe.
Clara gathered the eggs that were available and smiled happily to herself. Two d
ozen eggs. Her chickens were reliable.
She left eight eggs in the kitchen for later, safely tucked away, and tied up the remainder in a square of cloth for safe transport. Some she would bring to Mrs. Kimble in exchange for the pies that her stepsons snatched, and the rest she would try to barter for bread. If she were prettier, she might have tried to flirt for bread, but those days were behind her. She didn’t feel as if her youth had slipped from her, and she imagined her blue eyes sparkled as they always had. Clara patted at her hair and wondered if it was a mess. They’d sold the mirror weeks ago, so she always had to guess at her appearance. At least her hair was long enough so that she knew it still remained a lovely auburn shade. She’d been quite proud of her hair when she’d been courting her first husband. Not that pride helped fix the holes in the walls, but her stalwart hair color made her feel better. She hadn’t turned gray yet.
Clara sighed again when she saw the dirty dishes piled up and the stains on the rugs. The rickety steps to her back porch creaked and needed more nails, but she’d hammered the last one in months ago. If her negotiations for bread went well, perhaps there might be an egg or two remaining that she could exchange for nails.
Her husband, Charles, had died four months ago, and the whole family was still adjusting to the change. He’d been her second husband and she’d been his second wife. It made a kind of beautiful symmetry that echoed in her head.
One wife, two wives, everybody lives a better life. Husband, a husband, where oh where can her husband be? Down the shady lane, sir, beneath the willow tree.
Clara shook the rhymes out of her head. Nursery rhymes would not feed the children he left behind, nor fill her own belly.
With her basket in the crook of her arm, Clara vowed to attack the housework when she returned. She set off to make amends with Mrs. Kimble and be persuasive when dealing with the baker, Gustaf.
HENRYK LEFT HIS stepmother behind and set out for the day. The walk from his home into the city center consisted of a couple miles, and he preferred to walk them slowly so as not to use too much energy. He had a few coins jingling in his pocket, merrily reminding him he could buy himself a pork pie if he chose. But if he did that, then his coins would be gone. Better to save them for when he was really hungry or very desperate.
Once Upon the Rainbow, Volume Two Page 27