Pilgrimage

by Kim Fielding

  “Well, hooray for lazy winemakers.”

  Still happy with himself, Goran bounded over to Mike, wrapped him in strong arms, and pulled him close. “Do you think we can both fit on that mattress?” he purred into Mike’s ear.

  “I’m sure as hell willing to give it a try.” Mike’s words were muffled by Goran’s chest, but Goran probably understood them anyway.

  SOMEHOW MAKING the shed habitable became Mike’s job, while Goran hit the pavement in search of food and supplies. “I never wanted to be a housewife,” Mike grumbled as he drew water from the pump in the yard into a bucket. “My mother was never a housewife. Even my grandmas worked.” He dipped a bottle into the bucket and watched it fill. The water looked clean enough. He had to hope it didn’t come from the nearby river.

  Once he’d filled all the bottles and set them on the table, he snuck into the house in search of cleaning supplies. The house wasn’t much better furnished than the shed, but he did discover a broom with a broken handle and some lace curtains that he could use as dust cloths. Then he swept and scrubbed and dusted until the sun set. After that, there wasn’t much for him to do but sit in the darkness, listening to his stomach grumble and waiting for Goran. He tried some of the water. It tasted okay and didn’t kill him right away.

  Goran looked tired when he returned, although he grinned when he lit a candle and saw the condition of the room. “You cleaned!”

  “And you found a candle.”

  “More than that.” He shoved the base of the candle into a jug, creating a candleholder any Italian restaurant would be proud of. He set the jug on the newly cleaned table, then upended onto the table a fabric sack he’d been carrying. Food tumbled out: bread, cheese, sausage, apples. Enough to tide them over for a few meals at least.

  “How’d you score all that?” Mike asked. He pictured Goran skulking through a market, stealthily stuffing food into his sack. Except Goran was a little too big to skulk successfully.

  “I got a job.”

  Mike blinked. “A job?”

  “As a stevedore, loading and unloading boats. Nobody’s supposed to hire me because I don’t belong to the guild, but because I’m so strong I talked someone into it. He’s paying me less than the other men, and he’ll probably expect me to work twice as hard, but I don’t mind. It will keep us fed for a few weeks.”

  “That’s great, Gor. But how’d you get the cash for this haul?” As soon as the question was out of his mouth, however, Mike saw the answer: Goran’s scabbard was empty. “Oh no, Gor, not your sword!”

  Goran shrugged. “He’s holding it for me. I asked him to loan me a few coins so we could eat tonight and tomorrow. This way he knows I’ll come back. He’ll return it to me in a few days.”

  Mike felt very uncomfortable about Goran pawning his sword. Along with his knife, it was the only valuable thing he owned. He slept with it on, for gods’ sake. And the reason it wasn’t hanging from his hip right now was because of Mike. He was why they were stuck in Varesh for three weeks, waiting to apologize to a god and squatting in an empty shed instead of sleeping in the forest.

  “I’m sorry, Goran,” he said.

  “It’s fine. Let’s eat, all right? I’m famished. The bread was still warm when I bought it!”

  They sat on the newly cleaned slate floor and ate. The meal was delicious—fresh bread, tangy cheese with a hint of herbs, spicy sausage. Goran had bought a jug of ale too. “Wow,” said Mike, impressed after his first swallow. “This is decent stuff.”

  “Probably brewed very close by. Varesh is known for its ale and wine.”

  “Hey, Gor? Do you think your new boss would give me a job too? If we double our income—”

  “No.” Goran patted Mike’s knee. “I told you, he only hired me because I’m so strong.”

  “I’m not weak!”

  Goran sighed. “I know. But look at us. I’m big. I can lift heavy things, and I can kill things. It’s what I’m good for. You, though—you’re smart and you know things and you figure things out. Pavo was like that. He was a little on the small side, like you. But he planned everything. If we had a problem, he solved it. I always wished I could do that.”

  “Goran, I haven’t solved a damn thing since I got here. You’ve done everything.”

  “That’s only because you’re new to this place.” Goran drank a few mouthfuls of ale. “Back home, back in… California… you do solve problems, don’t you?”

  “I guess.” It was Mike’s turn to sigh. “I’m a fiscal analyst.”

  “I don’t know what that means.”

  “It means I help a company handle its money better. I tell it how much money it has and where it’s coming from, what it’s being spent on. I help them make better decisions what to do with it.” Well, didn’t that sound exciting.

  But Goran smiled. “See? I knew it. Look, I’ll earn enough. You can rest. Explore the city a little or read your book.” His grin turned wicked. “You can spend all day planning how we’ll please each other that night.”

  “I think we’ve been doing pretty well without planning anything,” Mike said.

  “Let’s finish our meal and see what we haven’t planned today.”

  They didn’t go to bed right after dinner, though. Mike first persuaded Goran to help him carry the mattress out into the yard and then to hold it upright while Mike beat it with a stick. Not only did he want to get the dust off it, but he wasn’t sure what small creatures might have made a home there. His standards for sleeping arrangements had sunk considerably over the past weeks, but he still wasn’t crazy about sharing a bed with anything but Goran. He tried to keep the mattress beating relatively quiet in case the neighbors might hear.

  When the mattress was back on the bed and they’d used the well to wash up, they stripped each other. Goran liked to play with the waistband of Mike’s briefs—elastic was a technological wonder to him. Mike just liked the excuse to move his hands over Goran’s big, firm frame and watch tantalizing skin appear bit by bit.

  As Goran’s trousers dropped to the floor, a small cloth purse fell too. Goran bent to retrieve it, then dangled it in front of Mike. His lecherous grin had returned. “I bought something else too.”

  “Oh?”

  Goran opened the purse and pulled out a tiny glass vial. “See?”

  “I’m guessing that’s not poppers.”

  “Huh?” Goran gave his usual Mike’s-spouting-gibberish shrug. “Oil. Slippery, slick oil.”

  “Ah!” They’d been making do just fine, but Mike couldn’t say he wasn’t thankful. He squished a handful of Goran’s ass. “You’re as good at gathering as you are at hunting.”

  The bed would have been a very tight fit for Goran alone; the two of them together could barely climb on without one of them falling off. But Mike wasn’t about to give up his precious mattress. After a bit of wrangling and twisting, they found something that worked: Goran lay flat on his back—feet hanging off the end of the bed—while Mike straddled him on his knees. Then Goran carefully, diligently worked the oil into Mike until they were both gasping with need, and Mike sank down onto Goran’s well-lubed cock.

  He liked this position, even if it involved a lot of work on his part. It meant he could set the pace and angle himself for best results, and it meant Goran was free to play with Mike’s cock and nipples. But best of all, it meant he had a good view of the beautiful man beneath him, of Goran’s hair escaping its leather tie to fan out widely, of Goran’s warm green eyes. Even better when they were fucking by candlelight, because the small glow made the two of them an island and made the rest of the world—the rest of all worlds—disappear.

  “Please,” Goran groaned when Mike wickedly paused with only the head of Goran’s cock breaching him. Goran tried to buck up with his hips. Mike loved to watch him writhe. “Please, please, Mike. Gods!”

  Mike took pity on him, lowering himself exquisitely slowly. He realized he was biting his lip—he tasted blood—but that didn’t matter at the moment. N
ot when he was so wonderfully filled, and not when calloused hands were stroking Mike’s needy cock and caressing his balls. And when Goran arched his neck and climaxed with a growl, Mike forgot everything except how good the two of them felt together. His climax hit him like an electric jolt, and his come spurted across Goran’s chest and face. Mike used a finger to scrape a little of the pearly fluid from Goran’s chest hair, then slowly licked his finger clean. Goran groaned like a dying man.

  Mike collapsed onto Goran’s torso. He felt like he’d just run a marathon, only messier. Goran nuzzled at his neck and gently stroked his lower back. “Am I good, Mike?” he whispered.

  “What?”

  “At fucking. Do I make you happy?”

  “Jesus, Gor. My brains are pretty much liquefied now, so I’d say yes. You’re amazing.”

  Goran gave a small, satisfied grunt. “Good. I want to make you happy, Mike.”

  “I… thank you.” Mike didn’t know how else to respond. But maybe that was enough, because Goran kissed his temple and gave him a small squeeze.

  They got out of bed and gave each other a quick wipe with water from one of the bottles. “I’d love a bath,” Mike said a little wistfully. “And clean clothes.”

  “There are bathhouses here. Once I earn a few extra coppers, we can go.”

  “With warm water, even?”

  Goran laughed. “All the warm water you could want.”

  “Sounds like heaven.”

  They remained naked because the night was warm. After blowing the candle out, they found a position on the bed that was reasonably comfortable. Goran curled up on his side, his back against the wall, and Mike smooshed back against him with his ass nestled nicely against Goran’s soft cock. Goran’s right arm was underneath Mike, who worried it might fall asleep but decided not to say anything. This was too pleasant. He’d never been much of a cuddler before, had rarely even spent the night with another man. Even when he and Benny dated, each would usually sleep at his own apartment. So this was nice, and he felt safe.

  He was very nearly asleep when Goran kissed the back of his neck. “Mike?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Do they have stevedores in California?”

  “Some. Not many. We have machines that do most of the heavy lifting.”

  “Oh.” There was a short pause. “What about guards? You work with all that money. You must have someone to guard it, right?”

  Oh, fuck. Mike swallowed hard. He decided that bank accounts and the like were too much to explain. “Yeah, Gor. We have guards.”

  Goran paused again, and Mike hoped he’d fallen asleep. No such luck. “Mike? When you go back to California… maybe I could come with?”

  “Goran—”

  “I know I don’t know my way around there like I do Nenahde, but I can learn. I can hunt for you and guard you. You wouldn’t need to give me the book, and you know I don’t need much. Just you.”

  With his cold heart aching, Mike turned around in Goran’s embrace. “Why would you want to do that, Gor? This is your home.”

  “I have no home!” Goran lowered his voice. “I haven’t had a home since Pavo—since I left Strazha. But I think… I think I could be home with you, Mike. Wherever you are.”

  Mike was glad for the darkness. “I can’t, Goran. I… I’m sorry. I can’t take you to California.”

  “Oh. All right,” replied Goran, sounding for all the world like a lost, disappointed child. “Good night.”

  Mike rolled back into his original position. Soon Goran was snoring in his ear, but Mike lay awake for a very long time.

  Chapter 10

  THERE WERE indeed bathhouses in Varesh. Mike and Goran used them twice weekly, and they were wonderful oases of hot water, steam, good soap, and clean towels. A barber worked at the bathhouse. He used a straight razor instead of a knife, but Mike had to admit the results were no better than Goran’s had been. Goran bought Mike an extra set of clothes. Like the ones Agata stole for him, this tunic and trousers were also used, but they were of better quality and in better condition. The tunic had a pewter button to hold the deep V-neck closed and some simple embroidery at the shoulders and hem. Even better, Goran found him boots, heavy boots of brown leather with weird toggles instead of laces. Mike enjoyed clomping around the cobblestones in them. He didn’t discard the sandals yet, although the soles were badly worn.

  Squeaky-clean, freshly shaved, and in Mike’s case attired in new clothes, they decided to have dinner someplace a little nicer than the divey taverns where they’d been eating for the previous two weeks. As they walked down the cobbled streets together, Mike felt absurdly like he was going on a date. “It’s a nice evening,” he said.

  “It was hot this afternoon. We had to load barrels of ale onto three ships in a row. By the time we were finished, I was ready to dive into one of those barrels myself.”

  Mike nodded. Goran had resumed drinking heavily in the evenings, and his cheer had assumed that air of falseness he’d lost in the forest. But he hadn’t mentioned California again, for which Mike was grateful. “I was hot too, and I wasn’t doing anything but sitting around.”

  “You swept the floor and filled all our bottles with water.”

  “Big deal.”

  “It’s nice to have someone taking care of things while I’m at work,” said Goran quietly.

  Mike didn’t answer, and in any case, a moment later they were seating themselves at a table at the edge of a wide street. For several blocks, the street was lined with tables and chairs. The air smelled of good food, people chatted happily while they ate and drank, and innkeepers and their helpers scurried around. Well-dressed people promenaded slowly up and down the street in pairs and small groups. Sometimes a few of them would stop and talk to others, creating a temporary pedestrian traffic jam. Apparently this was the place to see and be seen on an early-summer evening.

  As soon as Mike and Goran sat down, a half-grown boy brought them goblets of red wine and small cups filled with a liquor that made Mike cough. Goran laughed. “It’s good for you. It has honey and herbs.”

  “I feel like my throat is on fire.”

  “Good! That means it’s healthy.”

  It didn’t taste bad, actually, just very strong. Mike finished his off, although not all in one swallow like Goran. Once his taste buds recovered, he tried the wine. It was very nice.

  The restaurant had no menus, which made sense if few people could read. Apparently you got whatever was fresh that day. Tonight that was a tasty, oily fish served whole, head and all. It looked surprised to be on Mike’s plate. On the side were greens cooked with potatoes and garlic and more herbs, lots of warm crusty bread, and some kind of savory pudding. It was all delicious.

  They drank more wine with dinner, and after the boy cleared away the plates, he brought them a fresh bottle. This variety was white and sweet.

  Goran moved his chair around so he sat next to Mike, both of them facing the street. “Did you like it?” Goran asked.

  “Definitely.” In truth, as good as the food had been, Mike had actually preferred the half-raw, half-burned game he’d shared with Goran in the forest. But he didn’t say so. “I feel like I’m living it up more than a pilgrim ought to.”

  “Aw, not really. I’ve seen wealthy pilgrims. They have their servants following along a half league behind them with all their things. That way they can say they traveled with very little.”

  It was strangely comforting to learn that even in this world, the rich found technicalities and loopholes the poor couldn’t afford. “Well, I’m glad you’re not walking a half league behind me.”

  Goran grinned.

  Mike poured himself another cup of wine and topped off Goran’s while he was at it. He felt just a bit buzzed. He felt good. His thoughts were unfocused as he gazed out at the passing crowds without really seeing them.

  “Meliach?”

  Mike startled to awareness as Goran leapt to his feet, hand on the hilt of his sword. He didn’t
draw it, which was probably just as well; the two wealthy men standing in front of their table were each flanked by an armed guard of their own.

  “Meliach?” repeated one of the men. He was handsome, maybe thirty-five, with blond hair and a neatly trimmed beard. “Whatever are you doing here? And wearing that?”

  Mike blinked at him. “Sorry. Don’t know what you’re talking about. You must have me confused—”

  “Don’t be ridiculous! As if I wouldn’t know you.” He glared pointedly at Goran. “Would you please tell your brute to stand down?”

  Mike tapped Goran’s arm. “It’s okay, Gor. Have a seat.”

  Reluctantly, Goran sat down. But he kept his hand on his sword, and his body remained tense. The other guards visibly relaxed, while the other rich man—a balding guy in his fifties—watched avidly. He seemed to be enjoying the entertainment.

  “Thank you,” Blondie said. “You’re going quite a bit… rougher than usual, Mel. What’s going on?”

  “Look. I’m not whoever you think I am, okay?”

  “Come now! We’ve spent far too much time together for me to be mistaken.” The expression on Blondie’s face clearly conveyed what sort of time that had been. Dammit, why did Mike have to run into one of the lord’s fuck buddies?

  “I don’t know you,” Mike said firmly. “And my name is Mike Carlson. Not Meliach.”

  “He’s on a pilgrimage to Alina’s shrines,” Goran inserted. Mike wished he hadn’t but tried not to show it.

  Blondie’s pale eyebrows rose. “A pilgrimage? That’s rich, Mel! It’s not like you to play games like this. I’ll look forward to hearing the entire tale when next we meet. For now, though, I’ll leave you to your… piety.” Laughing loudly, Blondie and his companions walked away.

  “Who was that, Mike?”

  “Dunno. Never seem him before in my life.” Which was true enough.