Girik was fully hard now, but he was in no hurry. It had been a long time since he’d had a lover who wanted to explore and tease rather than get down to business as quickly and efficiently as possible. It reminded him of days spent with his very first lover, Aren. The man had been a traveling merchant, a linen dealer all the way from the capital, seeking to expand his business and trade for the local wools. For three years in a row, he’d come to barter his wares and teach Girik the ways of love during lazy stolen nights in his wagon. He’d been Girik’s first love and his first heartbreak when the fourth year came around and he didn’t return.
A warm hand wrapped around his cock, scattering those memories before they could ruin his enjoyment of the present. Girik kept his eyes closed, partly so he wouldn’t spook the brother, but also so the experience would last longer. Despite the strangeness of the situation, the sound of the brother’s voice and the warmth of his touch were enough to push Girik to the edge with very little effort. If he even caught a glimpse of the man’s pretty face, deep in concentration as he stroked Girik’s cock, their “ritual” might be over very quickly.
“I think it’s working,” the brother said with breathless wonder.
It’s definitely working, Girik thought irreverently.
“But there needs to be more,” the brother said as he gripped Girik’s cock tighter and stroked with more zeal while he renewed humming his song.
Against every natural instinct, Girik wrapped his fist around the one on his cock and slowed his pace. “I won’t last long if you need duration of pleasure rather than intensity,” he managed through gritted teeth.
“I don’t know,” the brother said with obvious frustration as his hand stopped altogether.
Stifling a groan of disappointment, Girik opened his eyes. The brother’s eyes were glassy, his pupils blown wide, and his cheeks were as flushed as Girik had seen them earlier. Despite the gravity of the situation, Girik was human enough to be flattered that the brother was clearly affected by what they were doing.
“What can I do?”
“I don’t know,” the brother cried again and stepped away. “The journals went into lurid detail about some things but not others. They were specific to his situation only. I don’t have anyone I can ask questions or advice from. And we don’t have time for me to fumble around in the dark.”
Greatly daring, Girik stood and crossed the distance between them. He placed his hands on the man’s shoulders and squeezed. “Don’t give up yet. We still have some time.”
Startled brown eyes met his, but surprisingly, the man didn’t shake him off. “Not enough time. I can’t keep us down here for hours and then emerge with you wholly undamaged. It will raise too many suspicions. I’ve always prided myself on doing as little lasting damage as possible, but my Offerings were still never able to leave the ritual chamber under their own power, particularly not after a lengthy session.”
Trying to not shiver at the reminder, Girik shrugged. “I could fake it. But won’t cutting the ritual short raise suspicions too?”
“Yes,” the brother sighed. “I had come up with an idea for that earlier, before we decided to try… this.” He flushed again and looked away.
Hiding a smile, Girik cleared his throat and pressed on. “All right. If you have a plan for that, then let’s keep trying with the time we have. I’d help if I could, but obviously, I have no idea what you’re doing beyond the physical.”
The brother pulled out of his grip and began pacing. “I’m a conduit for energy. That’s all. Your energy flows through me and is captured by the stone, holding it until I need it to battle the Spawn. The problem is, I was taught to see pain and fear as energy. All of my training revolved around that, so I don’t know exactly what I need to do to make the conversion. I sensed the pleasure energy, and I sensed Tasnerek responding to it, but his response was strange, something I’ve never felt before, and I’m not sure what it means. And the energy is only a trickle. It’s not enough.”
“His?”
“What?”
“You said his response.”
“I did?” The brother stopped and worried his lip for a moment before he shrugged and resumed pacing. “I suppose we’ve been together long enough that I see it as a part of me. It doesn’t really matter. What matters is, I don’t know what I’m doing right now. I don’t know how to get more energy.”
“I have a few ideas.” Girik couldn’t help his smile or the stirring of his cock at the images running through his head, but the brother simply frowned at him.
“I need to be able to concentrate. I need to be able to sing and direct the flow of energy. That’s what the ritual is designed for, to keep me focused. I read the journals and some of the… experiments he did. There’s simply no way I’d be able to concentrate doing such things, not without months, if not years, to practice.”
A little deflated, Girik moved back to the altar and sat. Silence reigned in the small chamber while the brother paced and Girik pondered.
Chapter Seven
“FEAR,” GIRIK said into the heavy silence of the chamber.
Tas stopped pacing and glanced at the man. “What?”
Girik lifted his head. “Earlier, you said pain and fear.”
“Yes, half the purpose of the ritual is to amplify fear. It makes the pain response that much more intense. It does most of my work for me.”
“So, emotion.”
“Yes.” It took a second, but realization finally dawned on him. “Oh! Yes!” Just as quickly, his rekindled hope faded. “We hardly have time to develop some sort of emotional connection, even if I knew where to begin.”
Girik wouldn’t be put off. “You said rapport, though, right? If we went about this a little differently, I think we could develop a better rapport than we had, at least.”
“Like what?”
Girik slid off the altar and moved toward him as he spoke. “Well, if we’re talking about my pleasure and my emotion, it would be easier if I could touch you too.”
Tas’s heart lodged itself in his throat. This was so far out of the realm of his experience, he felt like he was battling against a strong current and losing. He licked his lips and held up a hand as Girik smiled and stepped closer. “Not too much,” Tas warned, trying to catch his breath, “or I don’t think I’ll be able to concentrate.”
Girik didn’t stop until Tas’s hand was pressed to his chest. “Maybe before you begin the singing, then. I could get myself in the mood with a little touch… or maybe a kiss? Then I could step back and let you take over again.”
His low voice vibrated deep in Tas’s chest and belly despite how softly he spoke. When Girik lifted a hand to cup his cheek, Tas didn’t do anything to stop him.
Rapport. They were supposed to be developing a rapport. Tas was doing his duty, even if not exactly the way he was taught. And Girik was only doing what he needed to save his village.
Girik brushed Tas’s hair away from his forehead and continued the caress all the way to the back of his neck. Tas couldn’t suppress a shiver as he closed his eyes to enjoy the tenderness of the gesture. No one but his mother had ever touched him like this, and those memories were so faded, they seemed like another life.
“What’s your name?”
The warm moist air teasing his ear and the heat from the man’s nearness distracted Tas from understanding the question for a few seconds.
When the words finally registered, Tas frowned in confusion. “Brother Tasnerek.”
“Was that always your name?”
Tas nearly swallowed his tongue when Girik followed the question with a brush of warm lips against his ear. “N-no. Before Tasnerek chose me, I was Novice.”
“And before that?”
Tas pulled away a little to clear his head. “I left any other names behind when I joined the Brotherhood.”
Girik gave him a soft smile as he traced the backs of his fingers down Tas’s cheek and throat. “Is there something I can call you—just here i
n this place—something a little less formal than Brother Tasnerek?”
“Tas,” he replied breathlessly. “Call me Tas.”
He felt the heat in Girik’s gaze everywhere. He was so distracted by it, Girik’s lips were pressed to his before he even knew it. Tas jerked in surprise at first, but Girik persisted with a gentle pressure. As a wholly new experience, Tas wanted to surrender to sensation, but the chitter of the dagger beetles brought him back to reality.
With regret, he drew away and sucked in a calming breath. “We should return to the ritual. Any more and I’m likely to be too distracted to do anything useful. I need to concentrate.”
Girik’s half smile was tinged with disappointment, but he nodded as Tas put more space between them and cleared his throat. “Please return to the altar.”
Without a word, Girik returned to the stone slab and sat on it. The man made no move to cover his impressive erection, and Tas gave himself permission to look his fill. Girik seemed to enjoy the attention, and that’s what all this was about, after all.
Tas began to hum again as he stepped between the man’s knees and slid his palms up the thick, muscled thighs. Surprisingly soft and springy blond hairs covered Girik’s arms and legs, with a smattering shading his chest and belly. The curls teased Tas’s palms. All of this was so new, his focus wavered more than it had since his earliest days of training. At least Tasnerek glowed brightly from his chest, and the hum from the stone seemed pleased, even though the flow of energy Tas was able to feed it was erratic at best.
“This would be better if we were both naked,” Girik said huskily. The man’s bright blue eyes were closed, and his head was tipped back as if he were enjoying himself despite his words.
“I definitely wouldn’t be able to concentrate if I didn’t have the robe between us,” Tas reluctantly reminded him.
“Mmm,” Girik replied noncommittally. But when Tas wrapped his fist around the man’s cock again, Girik opened his eyes and held Tas’s gaze.
Tas’s song stuttered at the intensity of the man’s expression, but he took a breath and pressed on.
“May I make a suggestion?” Girik asked a little breathlessly as Tas began to stroke the thick column of flesh he held. Without breaking rhythm or his song again, Tas nodded.
Girik grunted and expelled a quick breath before continuing. “Since I won’t be able to see you in all your glory, that rapport we spoke of may be better served if you move behind me.”
Tas kept his hand moving and continued his song but lifted an eyebrow in query.
“If we can’t heighten my pleasure visually—” He moaned. “You can do it with touch. Feeling you pressed against me, against my back, your warmth, your breath, your arms around me… will help.” The last few were gasped out as Girik closed his eyes and frowned.
Tas thought maybe he’d done something wrong until it dawned on him that Girik was concentrating too. Following the man’s cues and his suggestion, Tas moved behind him on the altar. The shuffle to get them situated comfortably was a bit awkward, and Tas’s long legs were stretched about as far apart as they could, trying to accommodate the big man’s hips, but Girik’s comfort was the key, not Tas’s.
Once in position, Tas pressed his forehead to the man’s shoulder and reached around to grip his cock again. Tas’s own cock was pressed to Girik’s backside, but he tried very hard not to think about that.
Tas couldn’t quite see what he was doing anymore, but Girik placed a guiding hand over his and they began to work in concert. Thank the gods Girik seemed to know himself and what would please him. Tas was essentially doing exactly what he had been before, but the intimacy of their new position somehow increased the flow of energy significantly from the trickle it had been. It still didn’t compare to what he could extract using the old way, but he had no intention of telling Girik that.
He’d make it work. No matter how much energy he got, he’d make it work.
Girik arched against him, his breaths coming faster, and Tas struggled to maintain his concentration. The sounds the man made in his pleasure hit Tas like a physical blow as his own body’s need tried to make itself heard.
It took everything Tas had to hold his song as Girik’s guiding hand increased tempo. Tas held on through the last frantic strokes, anticipating the flood of energy as Girik stiffened suddenly and cried out. Warm wetness hit the back of Tas’s hand as Girik grunted. He kept Tas stroking until the last few shudders wracked his body, before finally releasing him.
Tas hadn’t done anything particularly strenuous, but he found himself panting along with Girik. In the end, he’d pressed his face to the man’s warm skin and simply held on. Now he took a few moments to revel in the feeling since it might very well be the last time he got an experience like this.
The probability was high he wouldn’t survive the next few days, let alone months or years. And even if he did manage to kill the Spawn, underprepared as he was going to be, his performance on this trip wasn’t going to allay any of the suspicions back home. The scrutiny from the Inner Circle would continue. How long before they sent him on another mission he couldn’t complete? How long could he last before he slipped up and they knew?
Tensing with anxiety again—the moment ruined—Tas slowly disengaged from Girik and slid off the altar stone.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
Girik quirked an eyebrow and grinned. “Right as rain. You?”
Turning his back on the man, Tas hurried to one of the unused water buckets in the corner to wash his hands. His cheeks felt hot again for what seemed the hundredth time that day, and he splashed water on those as well. “I’m quite well, thank you.”
When he turned back, he found Girik had propped a heel on the edge of the altar and had rested an arm on his bent knee as he watched Tas with hooded eyes. Tas squirmed under the scrutiny.
“What now?” Girik finally asked. “Is it enough?”
Tas’s stomach twisted but he lifted his chin and nodded. “Yes,” he lied.
Girik’s eyebrows drew down slightly. He started to say something, but Tas looked away and moved to the table containing his tools. “We’ll need to rough you up a bit. You’re already flushed and sweating, so that’s a good start, but you should probably wet your hair a little more. As a rule, I avoid drawing much blood, but there’s usually a little to heighten the Offering’s fear. You can decide where… just a little scratch should be fine.” Tas fiddled with his tools as he spoke, disturbing them to make it seem as if they’d been used.
At first, Girik’s breathing was all he could hear, but then the sounds of Girik moving about the room and water splashing broke the heavy silence. All too soon after that, Girik stood at his side, and Tas handed him a knife, still without looking at him.
Girik didn’t hesitate. Only a few brief seconds passed before he handed the knife back to Tas. Unable to stop himself Tas glanced down and watched as twin trickles of blood ran from small gashes on both of Girik’s forearms. Luckily for both of them, Brother Saldus had never seen Tas at work, so he wouldn’t be able to note any discrepancies.
Tas took a clean rag from his kit and dabbed at the blood before setting the rag on the table next to his tools. “Splash the contents of the bucket you used to clean up earlier on the side of the altar,” Tas ordered without looking up.
When Girik moved away to retrieve the bucket, Tas closed his eyes and gripped the side of the table.
Quanna, let this be enough to keep Girik and this village safe. I will accept the consequences of my actions, but don’t let it spill over onto them.
At the splash of fouled water on stone, Tas glanced over his shoulder at Girik’s broad back. Turning his attention back to the table, he reached for the wooden box and pulled it toward him as he called over his shoulder, “Excellent. Now you should probably don your robe so your lack of any bodily harm is covered and prepare yourself to act injured as if your life depended on it.”
As soon as Tas heard Girik put the bucket
down and begin to move across the room, Tas grabbed a pair of tongs and opened the box. Quickly shoving the larger female out of the way, Tas picked up the male with the tongs and set it on his arm, before he could think too much about what he was doing. Hungry and agitated, the dagger beetle struck immediately. Its venomous pincers latched on to Tas’s forearm faster than his eye could track it. The burst of pain was immediate and intense. The beetle was aptly named. It felt like being stabbed. Having experienced it before didn’t lessen the impact, and Tas cried out and dropped the tongs.
The beetle dangled from his flesh, unwilling to let go, and Tas had to fight off nausea and a fainting fit. Girik was at his side in a second.
“What’s wrong? What happened?” he cried, cradling Tas as he eased him to the ground.
“Grab the tongs,” Tas ordered through clenched teeth.
“What?”
“Tongs!”
He panted through the pain as Girik fumbled on the ground. When Girik held them up questioningly, Tas lifted his forearm to indicate the beetle. “Grab it in the middle, firmly,” he ordered between panted breaths.
The few seconds it took for Girik to comply felt like an eternity. The world swam before Tas’s eyes.
“Okay. Now what?”
“Tap where the head meets the body and it should release,” Tas gasped. The pain lessened almost imperceptibly when the pincers released. The agony was all in the venom, and that had already been delivered. “Good. Now put it back in the box and start banging on the trapdoor.”
“I don’t understand. What happened?” Girik asked after disposing of the beetle.
“The plan.” Tas managed to say it matter-of-factly despite his vision fading in and out.
“This is your plan?”
“It’s a valid excuse to cut the ritual short. Now go. Call for help while you’re still upset. It’ll make a better performance.”
The Priest Page 6