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“You fight well,” Halvik had said to Laurent. “It’s a shame you do not have the size to breed great warriors.” Then, after reassuring the Crown Prince of Vere that he had a pretty face, she’d announced with confidence,“Your slave is virile. Later he will service at the coupling fire.”
Damen remembered the last time. It had not been so very long ago, after all. But so much had changed. While it had been very enjoyable, it wasn’t the numerous couplings that he remembered most from that night. It was Laurent, when they were alone afterward, smiling at him.
It was Laurent he was thinking of now. And, commandingly, it was Laurent who now spoke. “The slave lies in no bed but mine.”
The words echoed for Damen, as did the officious tone with which they were said. If pressed later, he would have to admit that he missed a good deal of whatever Halvik said next, and that it was this that would cause the avalanche of events that would then proceed. What he did hear was, “This is Vaskian hospitality.”
It was not only a night of great victory, both for Laurent and for the Vaskians; it was also the Summer Solstice, and as Laurent went with Halvik to finish up whatever talks they deemed still necessary, Damen was taken outside a small tent and ritualistically bathed. It wasn’t the sensual bath he might have received had he—no, had Laurent —given permission for him to service the tribe once more. It was utilitarian and yet pleasant, and Damen found himself lulled by the way they cared for his bruises, refreshed by the intoxicating scent of their herbs and oils.
He was dressed, barely, in a leather strap from which dangled a piece of material he could, effectively, move out of the way if he were to become… amorous. Becoming amorous was, of course, not the plan, and he felt underdressed for the occasion he would find himself present for, which was likely either sleeping, or conferring strategy with Laurent and then sleeping.
He was left in the very small tent, in a very small loincloth, with a pitcher of something to drink, a cup, and some very conspicuous phials left for no other purpose than that Laurent had claimed him in front of everyone as his bed slave. They would no doubt sit unused until the next occupants of the tent took their pleasure.
Damen was thirsty, though, and he drank the water straight from the pitcher, having not had much of anything to drink for hours.
But it wasn’t water. He was too thirsty to stop, however, and half a pitcher was gone before he registered that he had indeed tasted this concoction before. And soon after having had it, had then had seven women in a row.
Well, fuck.
It wasn’t so bad at first. It only became perilous when Laurent finally joined him in the tent.
Damen went from half hard for no reason, to fully erect when Laurent, in some sort of airy linen attire, passed in front of their light source.
And then, Laurent’s gaze passing over Damen’s stripped body, Laurent said, “Here’s to Vaskian hospitality.”
Damen flushed, everywhere.
“Mine has a little more fabric,” Laurent went on. “Are you disappointed?”
And Damen found his voice to say, “I would be,” parting his thighs to ease the pressure on his heavy balls, “if the lamp weren’t behind you.”
Laurent stopped, and Damen heard his short inhale.
Damen cleared his throat. “There is… something you should know.”
“Oh?” Laurent asked, blessedly moving out from in front of the light so that Damen could no longer make out every curve and angle, but cursedly he also moved closer. Then he looked down. And Damen didn’t need to say anything. Because it was throbbingly apparent, pushing at the loincloth. “You drank the hakesh.”
“I assumed it to be water… at first.”
Which is when Laurent quoted Halvik back to him word for word” “‘He will be taken and prepared for you; …he will be given hakesh, so that when he mounts you, his endurance will bring you great pleasure.’ My inflamed brute, you were standing right there.”
“I can ask for my own lodgings if—”
“You will do no such thing,” Laurent said with an edge to his voice; whether angry or possessive, or both, it was difficult to say. He looked down at where Damen was having difficulty hiding the evidence of the hakesh now.
“That’s not helping,” said Damen.
And this… this got a small, slow, crooked smile. Laurent was dangerous when he smiled like that. It was so rare a thing, and it set Damen’s nerves on fire.
“Do I really have anything to fear from you tonight?” Laurent asked silkily.
Damen swallowed. “No.”
“No,” Laurent agreed. “You would lie there and suffer if I decreed it.”
Damen took a full, measured breath in and slowly let it out. “Yes.”
“Hm,” Laurent hummed. Then he said, “Attend me.”
“Laurent…”
“Liberties,” Laurent warned.
“Your Highness.”
“You’re not about to refuse a command, are you?”
“What would happen if I did?”
“In this instance?” He veered a direction Damen wasn’t expecting. “Nothing.”
“You wouldn’t punish me?” Damen frowned.
Laurent shook his head. “No. Not for this. But… I don’t think you’re going to refuse… are you?”
He had come, just half a foot, closer as he spoke.
Damen licked his lips. His cock ached. He came up on his knees, reached for the hem of the linen shirt and dragged it up Laurent’s torso, up his raised arms, over his head, letting it drop to the side.
Laurent was, in a word, breathtaking. Damen had known this for some time. He’d succumbed to his own desire to touch this body before him in the baths. It seemed madness to trust that Laurent would let him do the same now with no repercussions.
“Did they tend to your bruising?” Laurent nodded at the mottled mess along his side. Then, not waiting for an answer, he reached for something he’d brought with him, came close to Damen; Damen gasped before it touched, the ice to his hot skin, and holding it there inside a cloth, Laurent’s sure hand.
Laurent’s gaze moved over Damen’s face, close, and Damen… Damen’s attention went elsewhere, and he noticed how pretty and pink Laurent’s nipples were. Under his gaze, they stiffened.
He heard the change in Laurent’s breathing, his own echoing it. This was to be torture. But what Damen didn’t understand was why Laurent would be willing to torture himself, just to get a rise out of Damen, no pun intended. (That part of him had already risen of its own accord.)
The ice melted against his body, and before long, Laurent tossed the wet cloth aside. He lay back against the furs some distance away but still too close for comfort. (There was no comfort to be had if they were going to share the same tent.) Damen let his eyes rake over Laurent’s reclined body, frowning at the intensity of feeling within him, his own response, his longing, so fierce.
“It’s not my intention to leave you miserable for the night,” Laurent said, his own hand lying almost innocently against his chest. He blinked. And then he gave a soft-voiced order. “Touch yourself.”
“What?” Damen asked in a rush of breath. His cock pulled up hard at the suggestion. He felt primed to take himself in hand.
“You heard me. Bring yourself off.” He turned to his side, his head propped on his hand. “But do move the loincloth out of the way, so that I can watch.”
“Laurent…”
And this time when Damen said it, Laurent didn’t correct him.
It was too much. Between the drink and Laurent’s body, between Laurent touching him and Laurent’s smooth voice telling him to touch himself, Damen was lost to it. His desire felt like a feral thing within him, his control over it tenuous. And with one last dip of Laurent’s gaze down his body, Damen gave a little growl, flicked the cloth away from his erection, and took it in his fist.
Laurent watched. And he praised what he saw. “That’s good,” he said, a little breathy with it. He watched Damen work the foreskin down and back, the pinch of it over the head, his thumb against the slit. “Yes, that’s it.”
Laurent sprawled onto his back once more, his head turned indulgently on the furs, blond hair fanned out, and he slid his own hand over his chest, from one pink peak to the other, two fingers bracketing one nipple, his thumb brushing the other. Damen’s hand sped up, seeing it.
“Slow down,” Laurent commanded, and even as his hand moved down his stomach, Damen obeyed.
He made a rough sound at having to subvert his own climax at Laurent’s will.
“Won’t you regret this,” Damen bit out around panting breaths, “come morning?”
“Wouldn’t you do well not to remind me that such a thing as morning exists?” Laurent countered—and then took down his pants.
“Fuck,” Damen gritted out, seeing Laurent’s slim hips, his strong, sleek thighs, the swollen cock lying over the juncture of hip and leg, rosy and ready. Damen had never wanted to apply his mouth to something so badly. In fact, he licked his lips—and Laurent breathed a sweet, pleased laugh.
“Really?” Laurent asked, his hand dropping to cup his own balls.
“What did you think I was turned on by, the music?” Damen replied. And outside, it seemed to become louder, the drums, the rhythm building, like that of his thundering heart. His hand had sped up again. He was going to come looking at Laurent’s nude body. He was going to come so hard he was in danger of coming on Laurent’s nude body, even from a bit of a distance. The thought had him encircling the base of his cock and squeezing, hard, to stave it off.
“That’s it,” Laurent coaxed. “Make it last. We have all night.”
His first blunder was undoubtedly mistaking hakesh for water. His second was now making eye contact with Laurent. They gazed at each other, Damen handling himself, Laurent’s fingers pulling gently at his own pubic hair.
It was with a different voice, less teasing, deeper, that Laurent said, “Come here.”
When Damen hesitated, Laurent encouraged him gently. “Hands and knees,” he said. “Over me.”
Damen let all his breath out.
So he was definitely going to come on Laurent.
And Laurent, apparently, wanted him to.
Damen rose up over him, a knee on either side of his hips, one hand planted by Laurent’s fine blond head. He started pulling on his cock. The fact that it was so close to Laurent’s nearly sent him right then.
And then something horrible—wonderful—happened. Laurent raised his hands, and he began touching Damen’s body. He started at the back of Damen’s tense neck, drawing his fingers down the cords of muscle, tenderly down the arch of his throat. Damen made a sound that surely Laurent felt in his fingertips, before they touched the gold collar, and then descended.
Laurent’s gaze followed his touch, engrossed. His hands lit on Damen’s chest.
He splayed his hands there like a lover would do, and Damen grunted softly with the pleasure of it. He felt his own body where Laurent touched him, and an intense swell of emotion washed over him—pride, virility, possession. He growled low in his throat, Laurent’s aristocratic hands feeling carefully and inquisitively of his chest.
“Take your hand off yourself,” Laurent then instructed him.
Damen made an almost animal sound of protest but did as he was asked, staring down at Laurent’s face, the pretty blush he wore, and panting.
Then, holding the eye contact, Laurent let his hands slip lower, down the hard muscles of Damen’s stomach, his belly. Damen dropped his gaze out of bewilderment, to watch and see if Laurent’s touch was going where it seemed. And so he saw it, as Laurent’s hand encircled his prick, even as the other descended further and fondled his balls.
Damen didn’t realize he’d been holding his breath until it exploded out of him in a jarring rush.
“You’re not to come until I tell you. Do you understand?” Said with his fingers gently teasing down Damen’s cock.
Damen gritted his teeth. Hakesh was trying to have its way with him too, and it was… difficult. Still, even with Laurent’s hands touching him so intimately, Damen bit his lip hard and nodded. “Yes, Your Highness.”
But Laurent said, “No.” He said, “Say my name.”
“Fuck…” Damen groaned when Laurent’s thumb moved pre-come around his slit.
“No, the other one,” Laurent said.
And Damen would have laughed if he weren’t trying so hard not to prematurely spill his seed all over Laurent’s belly.
He opened his eyes, looked down at the man beneath him and said, absolutely wrecked for him, “Laurent.”
Laurent lifted his knees on either side of Damen’s body, his hand working Damen’s cock now, and he said, “Yes. Yes, that’s it.” When Laurent stopped only to grasp his own shaft up against Damen’s and start again, Damen made a sound loud enough to reach past the tent, to the coupling fire, to the beating of the ritual drums and beyond.
He started fucking Laurent’s fist, his cock moving against Laurent’s, and he was going to come. He was ready to come. But then Laurent paused his ministrations again. He squeezed around the base of Damen’s cock, knowing, and he cooed up at him, “You like that, do you? My cock and yours?”
Damen nodded, insensate with wanting to continue, with needing to rut.
“Hand me one of those phials, will you, lover? I can think of something you may enjoy even more.”
His consciousness was hazy with desire, and so it was only half-understanding that he did as asked. The full force of what Laurent was going to let him do hit when he saw Laurent’s oily fingers reach down between his own legs and disappear, his forearm working for a moment, his breath catching, eyes still sweet on Damen’s face.
“You would have me…” Damen began, unsure how to finish his own sentence, mad with lust for it and yet unable to reconcile this Laurent with who he’d previously known Laurent to be.
But Laurent, his voice gone harsher still, said, “I would have you,” and he pulled Damen down by the back of the neck, and kissed him.
Their mouths meeting sent a ripple of pleasure through Damen’s whole body, and he moaned. Laurent’s lips parted, held him suspended in his desire, and Damen slowly came onto his forearms during that moment. Their bodies adjusted, finally coming into closer contact, and Damen’s tongue slipped into Laurent’s mouth in conjunction, everything warm, everything touching, aligned like they’d been moving toward this moment all along.
Laurent made a sound into his mouth, his thighs parting further, and it was so yielding and provocative, Damen forgot about every hateful exchange, every violence done to him. No, forgot wasn’t right. He remembered. And it somehow existed at the same time, though muted, hushed, so that this was so much more to him presently. So much more… his body against Laurent’s, and the two of them beginning to move.
This was different. This wasn’t the tease, the offer of distanced relief. This wasn’t Laurent insisting on touching without being touched, or allowing Damen to touch just there. They were in concert now. Their skin met, flush; Damen’s movements weren’t prescribed, but natural, and he rutted between Laurent’s thighs not like a slave ordered to it, but like a man, a man in the throes of his feelings for another man.
The kiss turned hot and panting, and Laurent’s hands wandered with hunger now, down his scarred back, onto Damen’s pumping ass, gripping him there. And then, finally, reaching between them, taking Damen’s flushed red cock and aiming it.
“I’ll hurt you,” Damen warned when Laurent seemed intent on forgoing preparation. Damen could feel from the first experimental push how tight it was going to be, if slick.
“You won’t,” Laurent promised, breathless. He wore his blush on his cheeks, his chest. He stroked Damen in his hand, and Damen gritted his teeth.
“I want to be gentle with you.”
Laurent looked up at him, and his expression shifted from one of stunned surprise, easily, into a kind of acknowledgement that this was—somehow, however unlikely—true.
Taking him by surprise—because he could not have managed it otherwise—Laurent rolled them until he was on top. “I will make all the first moves then,” he said, and then worked the head of Damen’s cock inside himself.
Damen growled at the sensation of Laurent’s small hole allowing him, and Laurent, eyes closing, sighed.
Having Laurent like this, over him, was a new kind of pleasure that he felt deep in his body, ferocious and powerful. He took Laurent’s hips in his hands and felt every small movement as Laurent worked him in, inch by inch, making throat-caught sounds at it, rising up and then pushing himself down.
He sat up on Damen’s lap, eyes blissfully closed still, a small smile on his face, and Damen looked his fill at the pleasure writ all over him. Laurent’s cock had not flagged, and he sat down fully, letting Damen bottom out in him, slowly wiggling his hips a little for the best fit. Damen could not help himself, his hips pumping up once. Laurent gasped. He opened his eyes, looked at Damen lying there. And as Damen throbbed inside him, he knew Laurent felt it. They both felt everything.
Laurent began to ride.
Damen’s hands smoothed down and around, cupping the backs of his thighs, feeling the life and strength in them. Laurent’s head dropped back, his mouth opening, a smile developing again on his full lips. His hands went back and braced on Damen’s legs so that his beautiful body arched slightly, the tips of his nipples pushed out, caressed by the air—until Damen took them between thumb and forefinger, pinching lightly, plucking.
Laurent’s head came up, and there was a moment of fear in Damen’s mind. But then Laurent pressed his chest into Damen’s hands, and Damen couldn’t bear it. He sat up, maneuvered them once more until he was kneeling and Laurent straddled his lap. He took Laurent’s face in his hands, then his hair, then he took a nipple into his mouth. They both groaned.
Laurent sank down on him hard, the way easy now. He said, “Fuck me,” like he meant it, so Damen flipped him onto his back once more and went to it. He fucked Laurent’s ass with stamina and power, and Laurent went to pieces for it, whimpering, body moved rhythmically against the soft furs.
“Will you let me come?” Damen ground out, even as he slammed himself inside Laurent’s pliant body.
“Yes,” said Laurent, and Damen lost himself before the conclusion of that one brief word. “That’s good,” Laurent purred. “Spill yourself inside me.” Damen was already doing just that and would have set to work destroying Vask if asked to stop.
Damen bore himself up over Laurent on straining arms and pounded it in, their bodies slapping deliciously loud. When he slowed, he took longer strokes, and watched. Laurent bit his lip. “You like that.”
Damen made a sound of assent, and Laurent pulled him down. “Then stay hard in me and do it again.”
Damen’s refractory period wasn’t an unduly long one generally, and if he was randy enough, it could happen again within minutes. But tonight, on the hakesh, in Laurent, he found himself remaining erect, his hunger sated by maybe half, maybe less than half. Experimentally, he plunged in and out. Laurent gasped, smiling. “That’s right, keep fucking me.”
Damen did as asked, his body singing for it, skin aflame. Laurent pulled him close and huffed sweetness and filth in his ear. “You’re really fucking me, aren’t you? You’re fucking me with that cock.” Then a soft moan and, “...feels so good.” And Damen believed him, because it felt that good to him too. Better than anyone before. Laurent’s hands went into his hair and he whispered further instruction, now in accented Akielon: “Fuck me until I can’t ride a horse. Fuck me so that everybody can see it… let them see how well you bedded me. Lay your claim to me.” Then, “Lay it hard.”
Damen took Laurent’s wrists and pressed them high over his head into the furs and Laurent gasped. He strove into Laurent’s body. He saw it in his eyes first, almost a surprised look. Then Laurent whispered, back to his native language and shaking a little, “I’m close. I’m close, D— Oh!” And Laurent came between their bodies, Damen working him through it on long, swift strokes into him, watching his face for every moment of his pleasure.
When Laurent finished, he gazed up at Damen, blinking. Damen pulled out, still hard, and wordlessly, panting softly, wrists slipping from his grip. Laurent turned over under him, and lifted his bottom a little, coming up on his knees to be mounted from behind.
Damen growled and drove back inside, and as Laurent’s upper body melted into the furs, Damen molded them together, pumping inside him short now, like an animal, and Laurent, beneath him, whined, knees opening a little more to take it.
Damen grunted against his back, and they spoke only with their bodies. Though Damen remembered. He remembered an almost-name from Laurent’s lips. And maybe it was the uncertainty, the hint of fear, and the desire for it all at once, that made it happen for Damen the second time. He orgasmed again, and it still came out hot and strong. He made rough noises against Laurent’s milky skin. Laurent’s hands gripped the furs hard. He said only one more word. As he lifted his disheveled head and turned his face up as much as he could, his slick wet lips said, “Please.” And Damen bent over him, still throbbing inside, and took his mouth.
~
The drums had stopped and it was quiet when Damen woke in the middle of the night, hard again, and already in Laurent’s mouth.
He lifted up in surprise, but, mouth moving slowly up and down Damen’s shaft, Laurent stopped him with a gently prohibitive hand on his chest, pushing until Damen laid back into the bedding.
It wasn’t like how he instructed Ancel. Or rather it was, and it wasn’t. It was unhurried, of course. It was honeyed, Laurent’s mouth welcoming him inside. Laurent suckled at the head before he pushed down, meeting his hand with his lips. It was to a purpose, but it felt…different, an act, something he was doing to Damen, but also …something shared.
Laurent made a soft sound in his throat that Damen felt. The wet of Laurent’s tongue curled underneath him with care, his breath made steady by control. But this was not a man intent on forcing pleasure on his subject. This was a man with a hunger in his own body, and when he made Damen come, Damen, even reeling within his own climax, felt how much Laurent wanted it.
Laurent swallowed, and when he was through and lifted his lips, he lingered, leaving soft kisses, against the crown, down… in the thatch of hair at the base. He hummed an open-mouthed kiss over the wet head, and then hummed again, coming to lay his head on Damen’s chest.
“You were so hard,” Laurent said, “and you were whimpering in your dreams. Do you remember them?”
“No,” he said. But surely they were of him… of this man lying heavy and satisfied in his arms.
Damen pulled him close, and Laurent let him.
Laurent said, “Go back to sleep,” and soon enough, Damen did.
When he woke again, it was daylight, sunshine brightening the canvas of a tent that was, other than his presence, empty.
He knew what he would find upon exiting: Laurent, laced up from throat to feet. Laurent, ready to ride despite his demand last night that Damen make that difficult for him.
Laurent, steely and sharp and unreadable.
Damen knew. And though it was an ache, still he found himself fighting a smile.
Fighting and losing.
Oh so ready and willing to lose.
Like this.
For him.
Damen dressed his sated, thrumming body, and he walked out into the day.