Chapter 1: An Urgent Matter (Sluts)
Even under a canopy of homespun hemp, the white-yellow sun razed down upon Eragon and Roran. The Rider resituated his newly-muscular thighs moistly on the flimsy metal chair. He could feel the closeness of his cousin, the sheer sweating masculinity and musk of the leader he was lucky to call his family and best friend. Roran, unaware, sipped loudly from his Chai Latte.
"Wow, Roran," Eragon said, subtly, "where did you get that leather corset?"
"The thrift store," Roran said, with a wink. Eragon thought it was sultry, but couldn't tell. He did not have much experience in these areas.
Roran squinted sidelong at the man he was lucky to call his family and best friend. "Don't be gay," he cautioned teasingly.
Eragon blushed. "I am a straight," he said, reaching into his bull leather Jansport messenger bag. "Here is a fairth of Arya that I have made. Her mature womanly domes are in astonishing evidence, which a homosexual would not have managed."
Roran stared dumbfounded at the fairth. It was extremely… sexual. It looked like how Eragon looked, in Roran's sweetest secret dreams. But it would not do to dwell on domes nor dreams at this time. There were important matters at hand. Locking eyes with his handsome, pheromonally charged, toned, sweetly-expressioned cousin, he challenged Eragon: "Is or is not our Lady Nasuada a loose maiden?"
Eragon shifted, not wanting to seem non-PC but unable to hide his true judgements from one who understood him so intimately. There had been…rumors, going around lately, ones that painted an even less chaste picture of his human liegelord than the Arya fairth.
I cannot say for certain, Saphira said, her voice echoing like aching water in Eragon's mind, but she smells like a slut.
I'm not sure I understand…although she does seem to carry a vague memory of yeast mixed with vanilla Bath and Body Works perfume into any tent she enters.
Precisely.
Not without the smallest hint of envy, Eragon replied, "Perhaps you ought to investigate for yourself."
"If she'll have me."
"And who wouldn't have you! Like a raw, throbbing sprite of addictive energy you are, completely irresistable."
Now it was Roran's turn to blush. "My cousin… do you mean that in a homo way?"
Saphira reached her vast, limitless, thorny yet wise and not-without-a-soft-and-warm-heart mind into Roran's musk-laden human brain. You will have to determine that for yourself, Roran. Look within your heart.
Roran's brown trousers that day were below-knee length but too tight in the thighs. He had asked of Elaine to tailor them better to his shape, but resources were limited. His brown smock hung loosely, only pausing on this hot day to cling wetly at his armpits, with tiny punctuation mark nipples breaking up the long sentence that was his barrel of a chest. He wore a leather corset to accentuate his shapely waist but now sweatily regretted that decision. How was he to look within his heart on such a hot, languorous day as this? It was a day not for introspection, but for lengthy conversations in which nothing of substance was said. But he could not completely defy Saphira's dictum. Somewhere from between his upper ribs, his heart whispered: he absolutely does mean that in a homo way.
Eragon was wearing tight leather pants. They were black, but they had firey red embroidery on the sides. The embroidery was in the shape of ancient elven fertility symbols. He had brown boots from JC Penny and a white tanktop that showed off the delicate tufts of chest hair peeking out above his the delicate rosebuds of his moobs. He hoped that Roran liked it. "If you do take Nasuada to bed with you," he said nonchalantly, fiddling idly with the edge of his napkin, "let me know?"
