Confessions
Disclaimer: I don't own the Coldfire Trilogy, and no profit whatsoever is intended.
Quotes: Ciani's explanation as to why adhering to a strict code of honour is so important for Tarrant is a quote from Black Sun Rising, page 260.
A/N: Well, this might be my last contribution to this fandom (and any other) for quite a while. If everything goes according to plan, I'm going back to university next month, quite a crazy thing to do in my advanced age. It's 'just' a correspondence course hopefully leading to a bachelor degree in a few years, but besides my studies (about twenty hours per week), working part-time and trying to have a semblance of a private life there won't be much time for penning fanfics, I'm afraid. I don't intend to give up my favourite couple for good and will be around to read new stories and maybe post a few lines every now and then, but as much as I might wish otherwise, I will be forced to cut down on my writing for sure. Just wanted to tell you the reason for making myself scarce from now on. Hugs and best wishes to all of you, and may the Coldfire fandom live forever :-)!
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Back in the galley roundabout an hour later, Damien took another deep swig of rum, a somewhat belated welcoming present from Ran Moskovan. Never mind the Hunter deciding over their heads once again. At least they had made it safely aboard the Desert Queen against all odds. If that didn't warrant whetting one's whistle, presumably nothing would.
Jenseny was already asleep in her nest of blankets, one of the puzzles the Neocount of Merentha had purchased for her still clutched in her tiny fist, but Hesseth had joined him for the little celebration of their successful escape, albeit wrinkling her nose at the alcoholic fumes rising from his mug. Even Tarrant deigned to grace them with his presence again, but he didn't seem to be in a celebratory mood. Standing close to the ladder, he was keeping a stony silence, and if his mien was anything to go by, he was but an inch away from unleashing his wrath on them all.
Slowly but surely becoming pleasantly tipsy, Damien decided to take the bull by the horns and to hell with the consequences. "You've got your way, We're going to Freeport against my will, so what the heck is eating you now?" he challenged. "Is it the girl again? You said yourself that her company might be useful."
The Hunter glowered at him. "So I did, but it doesn't mean that I have to like it. She's unstable, utterly unpredictable. So very soon she will reach puberty. I can already smell the changes in her hormonal balance. And what then, Vryce? It's the worst time for every adept in terms of control of his or her powers. Or rather lack thereof. She could betray us to the enemy without ever wanting to."
"Humans," Hesseth hissed contemptuously. "My kind doesn't put up such a fuss about something completely natural. When our young feel the urge to mate for the first time, they have every freedom. Nobody tries to clip their natural instincts or plants foolish ideas about sin and the virtue of chastity in their heads. Maybe you should learn a lesson from us for once."
Tarrant's brow furrowed in disgust. "If you had ever bothered to concern yourself with our faith - or to pay attention to what I was saying in the Regent's Manor, for that matter - you'd know that the whole concept of sanctity through sexual abstinence practised in this area is nothing but a despicable perversion of my teachings. Vain at best, extremely hazardous at the worst. Acting in accordance with the true gospel of the Church, no believer in the One God is forced to repress his healthful urges, not even our clerics, as the priest could testify to. However, refraining from mindless coupling is what distinguishes us from mere animals. It goes without saying that I can't expect you to grasp the difference."
"For crying out loud, can't the two of you ever keep off each other's throats and give some slack for a while?" Damien grumbled with rising exasperation, conveniently forgetting that he had started the argument in the first place. "I've had it up to here with your bickering. And as for the 'mindless coupling': You might have a point there, Gerald, but as far as I remember, I wasn't a shining example of self-control in my youth myself. The hormonal overkill made me do some really stupid things, like writing a love letter to one of my teachers at the seminary. Thank goodness I never posted it. To top it all off, my first time must have been a nightmare for the poor girl involved. Just thinking about it makes my toes curl with embarrassment. I was so horny that I didn't last more than ten seconds, and she never dated me again. Can't really hold it against her."
"How very fascinating," the adept snapped. "Are you through with briefing us on your adolescent sexual experiences now?"
"Yeah, but what about you? I'd bet my sword that you've some interesting stories to tell. What was it like to sow your wild oats in the Revival period?"
"This is getting ridiculous, Vryce. You'd better go to bed and sleep it off instead of poking your nose into things that are none of your business."
"Oh come on, Gerald. Don't be a vulking bore," the warrior knight hiccuped. "Now we've all told some tales out of school. Why not you? If pulling the stick out of your ass is too hard for you being sober, you should try a few sips of my rum. It tastes like shit, but it will loosen your tongue for sure."
"That'll be the day! One of us making a fool of himself is quite enough, I dare say," Tarrant retorted drily. "But you'd better remember that I can't get drunk. Not in the conventional sense, anyway. Imbibing the better part of your blood as a carrier substance for the alcohol would presumably do the trick, but I very much doubt that you'd be able to enjoy the effect thereafter. Shall we put it to a test?"
The unveiled menace in the Hunter's voice made it through the liquor-induced haze clouding Damien's mind, and he shot his ally a questioning glance. There was resentment in those silver-flecked eyes, deprecation and something he couldn't quite put a name upon, but what made his heart skip a beat was something else entirely.
He had always known that Gerald was more than simply handsome. His natural grace and aristocratic demeanour, let alone his deceptively angelic countenance, made him stand out like a beacon in the darkness among lesser men. But whatever aesthetic enjoyment he might have secretly found when looking at him had been overshadowed by his religious abhorrence of what had become of the founder-father of his faith, his visceral disgust at the Hunter's unabashed cruelty and sadism and a fair amount of plain male jealousy, as absurd as the latter might be. This was different now.
Beholding how the moonlight played over Tarrant's finely-chiselled features and transformed his loose hair into a silvery halo flowing around his head, his entire perception changed. For the first time ever he let that ethereal, almost surreal beauty touch his heart instead of just registering it in his mind in a detached, clinical manner, and something stirred deep down inside him that was more terrifying than all the demons on Erna combined. Or would have been, if he had still been able to think straight.
He should have acted on the Hunter's advice and hit the pillow, but in his inebriated state, a languid warmth coiling in his abdomen, he somehow just couldn't bring himself to let the matter rest. "Witnessing you loosening up a bit might be worth it," he rasped throatily, utterly oblivious to the stunned expression on Hesseth's face. "Can't help but wondering whether there's a vulking volcano buried under all that ice. Isn't it said that still waters run deep?"
When the pale eyes widened, just to narrow into slits of suspicion a heartbeat later, he realized his mistake, but it was too late. "Get out, Mes rakh. Now. And don't forget to take that little parasite with you," the Neocount of Merentha commanded icily. He had drawn up to his full height, stood ramrod straight, his hands balled into white-knuckled fists at his side and the tense set of his shoulders under the layers of midnight blue silk belying what might have been the calm numarble face of one of the statues framing the main entrance of Jaggonath Cathedral, perfectly carved but utterly devoid of any human emotion whatsoever.
"Damien?"
It was but a single word, but it conveyed a whole world of meaning. Even without noticing his feline companion's half-crouch, her unsheathed claws and bared teeth, he would have known that she was alarmed. Seriously alarmed. In case Tarrant did something stupid, for instance deciding that he'd be better off without a certain bothersome priest annoying the hell out of him, she was poised to come to his aid, no matter what. But he couldn't have this. Not with so much being at stake. "It's all right, Hesseth," he sought to placate her, suddenly quite sober. "We'll just have a... short conversation in private, no more. But you needn't freeze your bum off out there. Gerald and I can go up on..."
Coldfire flared up, blinding in the dim light, and formed an icy, impenetrable wall running from the deck right up to the low ceiling, effectively sealing them off from the rest of the galley. Then the adept's no less cold, intimidating gaze fixed on him. "Now we're alone, Vryce. Time to find out why you're so obsessed with my sexual life all at once."
Just like in the dae in Briand he could feel the touch of a foreign mind sorting through his own, doubtlessly filing away the garnered information for further use. Under the given circumstances, he was less than happy about allowing Tarrant access to his innermost thoughts, but before he could gather his wits, the adept recoiled from him as if he were the Unnamed himself. "This is... unexpected," he breathed, his usually so smooth light tenor hoarse with shock."But I should have allowed for the possibility, fool that I am."
"Don't make a mountain out of a molehill, Gerald! I had a weak moment under the disinhibiting influence of too much rot gut. So what? Even if I were inclined to jump you, I'm not daft. I know that you were a family man in your mortal days. That implies a heterosexual orientation in my book. So let's just forget about the whole thing and call it a day. I'll get over it."
"Have you lost your wits, priest? Your 'weak moment' changes everything, from the nature of our alliance and the choices we make to our already meagre chances at surviving a battle against forces ruthless enough to use every weakness against us. We can't just go back to normal as if nothing has happened. And as for my preferences in bed... apart from the fact that I married very young and sired three children, you know nothing about my private life. Do you want to learn who my first lover was, long before I met Almea? Then follow me to the past and See!"
A chill finger was pressed against his cheek, and the claustrophobic space faded into non-existence, just to be replaced by a huge, panelled chamber he had never seen before. Gone were the bare planks beneath his feet, the gentle motions of the vessel and the ever-present odour of salt and damp wood. Wherever he was now, the moonlit night had yielded to day. Rain was lashing against the vaulted windows framed by emerald green velvet draperies, but is was bright enough to make out the two naked figures sprawling on an imposing four-poster bed. The older one, powerfully built and ruggedly handsome, looked faintly familiar, but it was the slender, fair-skinned boy leaning against his chest who caught Damien's attention.
His eyes were closed, but the delicate, androgynous face framed by a mane of golden-brown hair left no doubt who the lad was, and Vryce very nearly forgot how to breathe. Dear God Almighty, what was he to make of this? The adept couldn't be much older than Jenseny Kierstaad - fourteen, fifteen at the very most - but the man just pushing an oiled middle finger into the tight ring of muscles between his nether cheeks had to be in his mid twenties. What was happening here was bordering on child abuse, something no less liable to prosecution in his own era than it had supposedly been on their mother planet Earth.
Don't be such a boring moralizer, a sarcastic voice piped up in his brain. You wanted the truth. Now live with it.
Gerald the boy weathered the intrusion without so much as batting an eyelash. Only a slight hitching in his breathing suggested that he might not be altogether comfortable with the proceedings, but his features betrayed no signs of discomfort, and the long fingers combing through the dark thicket of his partner's chest hair were perfectly steady.
A strange silence descended on the room, only interrupted by the sound of the rain drumming against the tinted glass and the gusts of wind howling around the building like a horde of demonlings unleashed. Just when Damien thought he could bear the tension no longer, the adept opened his eyes and looked his older bedfellow square in the face. "Do it now, Gannon," he whispered. "I'm ready. As ready as I'll ever be, to be precise."
"Are you sure? You don't have to feel obliged to play along, Gerald. I might be your king, but I'm also your friend. And more. I'd never force you into something. You know that, don't you?"
The corners of the youth's mouth curved upwards ever so slightly. "I do, and I'm grateful for it. But I'm not 'playing along' for your sake. Not in the first place, anyway. For years I was cowering before the spectres of my past. Not anymore." The smile widened almost imperceptibly. "Besides, what you're doing is rather pleasant. I never thought I'd say this, but I don't really mind deepening the experience."
Shaken to the core, the warrior knight temporarily lost track of the conversation. Seeing Gerald Tarrant of all people making out with another guy was unsettling enough, to put it mildly, but that his lover apparently was King Gannon himself, the founder of his Order and very man who had outlawed private sorcery and thus laid the foundation for his downfall - try as he might, he couldn't wrap his head around it.
The surge of sardonic amusement reaching him via the channel was almost palpable. This isn't quite what you expected, is it? Tarrant chuckled in his head, language without sound. I'm sorry for shattering your world view, Vryce, but instead of agonizing about the name of the human being who taught me that sex isn't just a painful, dirty mess to be avoided by all means save for the sole purpose of procreation, you'd better watch closely. It's never too late to expand your horizons.
As if right on cue, Gannon unearthed a strange device from the top drawer of his bedside table. It looked like a kind of harness made from very thin-cut black leather, with a strap attached at one end and fastened with a set of five golden, hemispherical buttons running atop it in a straight line. From the way they were shining softly in the candle light, the material had to be the real thing, not a cheap imitation. And why not? In his position, he surely had the wherewithal to indulge his every whim, even if this included spending a small fortune on a custom-made sex toy.
Because that was exactly what it was. Although he had never used anything like it himself, Damien wasn't naive in sexual matters, and during his excursions with Ciani he had come across more than one weird so-called pleasure enhancer openly displayed in certain shops in Jaggonath. In retrospect, he suspected that the loremaster had led him there deliberately. Spite had no part in her character, but belonging to the pagan multitudes, she might have thought confronting a priest of the One God with the kinkier range of goods available in the city riotously funny. If this was true, she had underestimated him. Ganji-on-the-Cliffs wasn't the end of the world, and it took a bit more to unhinge him than the sight of a dildo or a vulking penis sleeve. If these items weren't about to be used for Gerald's benefit, that is.
Gannon's low, somewhat embarrassed voice snapped him out of his deliberations. "Don't consider me too rash," the man muttered with a self-conscious laugh, "but I had this made for us quite a while ago. Just in case you ever agreed on, well, having it off with me. It might make it easier for you to find pleasure in the act, but the choice is yours."
An elegantly arched eyebrow shot upwards, the facial expression so utterly familiar that Vryce felt a strange flutter of yearning in the pit of his stomach. For a moment Gerald hesitated, his clear grey eyes wandering back and forth between the mossy green ones watching him and the piece of black leather, and the warrior knight thought he could almost hear the gears clicking in his head. Analysing, evaluating, calmly weighing the facts in spite of the delicacy of the situation. If he had still harboured any doubts about the identity of the boy, they would have been dispelled at that very instant.
The faint flicker of uncertainty passing across the youthful features, already only visible if one knew what to look for, was gone so quickly that he couldn't be sure whether he hadn't imagined it altogether, making way for the very same steely determination which had carried Tarrant's older self right into a new existence and across the cold waves of Novatlantis.
Snorting like a disgruntled uncat, the adept wrenched the toy from his partner's hand and fastened it around the man's genitals with an air of utter naturalness simply amazing for one so young. Whatever could be said about him, he had guts, be it at the age of nine hundred fifty and something or in his mid teens. "And now?" he asked quietly after picking up a small crystal flask from the night stand and spreading a generous amount of oil over the sheath. "How do you want to take me?"
Gannon blinked. "Good Heavens, Gerald, you sound as if you weren't having a say in it! I'm not your screwed up brothers, dammit! It's your wishes that count tonight, not mine. But if you value my advice, I'd suggest you being on top. Controlling the angle and depth of penetration ought to more than make up for having to do most of the work. And I hope to hell that I can see you riding yourself to seventh heaven on my cock. Should one of the bloody assassins my dear cousin Robert is so fond of putting onto me succeed tomorrow, I could at least die a happy man."
It seemed to Vryce that the colour rose in the pale face, something he had never witnessed before, and the smooth, gently curved lips which would taste the blood of so many innocents in the years to come twisted into a thin line of disapproval at the profanity. Thinking of the thousands and thousands of women so cruelly robbed of their life momentarily brought the warrior knight back down to earth, metaphorically speaking, but he forgot all about his abhorrence when Tarrant straddled the monarch who would lavish the highest honours on him a few years later in one fluent, effortless motion eerily reminiscent of the Hunter's inhuman grace and lowered himself onto his erection without further ado.
At the beginning of their love making Gerald took it slow, testing the uncharted waters of his sexuality by gently circling and twisting his pelvis, but after a short period of adjustment he got down to business. Watching the muscles of his buttocks and back playing beneath his pale skin when his hips were moving back and forth in a mesmerizing rhythm was a hell of a turn on for Damien, as condemnable as such a reaction might be. His own cock pressing hot and hard against his briefs, he felt like a goddamn voyeur, but however much he tried to divert his mind, there was no escape from the visions the Prince of Jahanna was planting in his brain. And the worst was yet to come.
Whether his tormentor just enjoyed toying with him, revelling in his helplessness, his qualms about his physical response to the most erotic scene he had ever witnessed, or there was an altogether different reason for the abrupt change in perspective he had no idea. But suddenly he wasn't a mere observer anymore, if not innocent by any stretch of the word, could feel the golden hemispheres rubbing over a sweet spot he hadn't even known existed again and again, sending sparks of sheer bliss through 'his' abdomen which fuelled the burning need to thrust harder, faster, and it was heaven and hell at the same time.
The youth started to moan rhythmically, a raw, animalistic sound born from pleasure so intense that it was bordering on pain, and it went straight to Damien's groin. His heart hammering in his chest and his balls drawing up as if he himself were buried inside the tight, hot channel to the hilt, he knew he wouldn't last much longer if this went on. "For God's sake, Gerald, stop it! You vulking son of a bitch have had your fun. Leave it at that," he panted though gritted teeth, but he could just as well have saved his breath.
"No chance in hell, Vryce," Tarrant purred into his ear, each of his words an icy caress on his flushed skin. "Unfortunately, my compact strictly forbids me from indulging in sexual congress or even mimicking its forms, but this I can and will have. And now I want you to come for me, together with the boy I once was. Considering how well you're responding to my endeavours, it shouldn't be difficult for you."
Desperate to break the connection between their minds before it was too late, Damien tried to slap his hand away, but his sword arm hadn't risen more than a few inches before it fell limply to his side again, paralysed by powers he was utterly defenceless against.
As Gerald edged closer and closer towards his climax, his internal muscles clenched around the leather-clad shaft inside him, intensifying the friction to a nigh to unbearable level. His previously so controlled motions turned into short, erratic jerks of his pelvis, and the separate ripples of pleasure caused by the buttons massaging whatever that spot inside him was merged into a smouldering inferno of lust that arched his back and drove his teeth into Gannon's tanned shoulder in a blinding rush of ecstasy unlike anything he had ever experienced before.
Bound to him for better or worse, Damien's knees buckled as the first pulsing waves of their simultaneous orgasm tore through him, ripping a hoarse scream from his throat. But the Neocount steadied him, held him in a tight embrace like the lover he could never be until the metallic taste of blood faded from his tongue and he was back in his own body.
When he had come halfway to his senses again, he latched his gaze on his undead companion, not quite sure what to make of the recent developments. Tarrant's face was still and set, giving nothing away, but there was a strange glimmer of emotion in his eyes he had rarely seen before, if at all.
Vryce sighed inwardly. At the beginning of their acquaintance, he would have drawn his sword and rammed it through the Hunter's black heart as a punishment for what was nothing short of an accursed mind rape. Or, more likely, would have died trying. But things had changed profoundly in the meantime. They had changed. He couldn't even begin to fathom what it was like to be denied the simple pleasures of the flesh for the small eternity of nigh to ten centuries. All he knew was that his heart was aching for the man condemned to sublimate his passions into finding sadistic delight in the suffering of his human prey. "This was quite an eye-opener, Gerald," he said gently. "Who would have thought that your duties for king and country encompassed a bit more than gracing Gannon's court and winning his battles for him? I'd rather you hadn't forced those visions upon me against my will, but I'm not cross with you. Just tell me why the heck you did it, and the matter is settled. Was it anger about my prying into your secrets, something I surely had no right to do? Revulsion at my drooling over you? If so, you picked a very strange way to re-establish the pecking order."
Tarrant let go of him and stepped back, his gait uncharacteristically heavy. As the silence dragged on, wrapping around them like a cocoon separating them from the rest of the universe, Damien started to fear that his questions would go unanswered. But at long last the adept drew a deep breath as if steeling himself for the inevitable. "It was nothing of the sort," he whispered, a muscle in his delicate jaw-line twitching ever so slightly. "My social graces are a little rusty, and talking about my inner life, my feelings, isn't one of my favourite pastimes, as you very well know. Having said that, I suppose I owe you an explanation for my behaviour. I hold you in very high esteem, Damien Kilcannon Vryce, as absurd as it might sound after everything I've done to you. You're brave, absolutely loyal to your comrades-in-arms and honourable through and through. When Gannon and I dreamed up the Order of the Golden Flame, we couldn't have possibly imagined a worthier knight. I appreciate that."
"Why, thank you. It's good to know that I'm not a dead loss in your eyes, but..."
"Just hear me out, will you?" the Hunter cut him short, a flash of impatience passing across his striking features. "The night isn't getting any younger, and I'd rather get this over and done with ere the break of dawn."
"No problem. I'm all ears."
"It is to be hoped. To get back to the point, you're a man of great personal integrity, an admirable disposition beyond all question, but there's more to it than that. I find you aesthetically pleasing. Sexually attractive even. Realizing that the sentiment was mutual, I decided to make the most of the opportunity. As laying with you in reality would in all probability have been the end of me, I needed to devise a contingency plan, plain and simple. Maybe I went too far. Making allowances for human sensibilities isn't something that comes natural to the demonic."
Damien could hardly believe his ears. What he had just heard came closer to a sincere apology than anything Tarrant had ever uttered in his presence, a miracle in its own right, but even more stunning was the man's confession of being attracted to him. The idea that a creature called the Darkest Prince of Hell with good reason was having the hots for him went over his head, was so bizarre that suspicion bloomed inside him like a poisonous flower.
The Hunter had proved more than once already that he was an unrivalled master in the art of psychological manipulation. Utterly unburdened by moral scruples, he had never shied away from capitalizing on each and every soft spot he sensed in the unfortunate souls coming in contact with him, be it friend or foe. Affection and desire certainly fell into that category, at least from his twisted point of view. So why not feigning to reciprocate his mortal companion's feelings, a virtually ideal tool for securing his support and loyalty right to the bitter end?
Something didn't feel right about this theory, though. It wasn't so much the ring of sincerity Gerald's low voice had been carrying or the tell-tale signs of uneasiness in his posture. A being as intelligent and cunning as him could certainly fake those subliminal clues. But although the bastard might relish fencing with words, resort to telling half-truths or keep quiet about something important altogether, an outright lie wasn't his style. His honour, and everything that went with it, forbade it. "It's the glue that holds it all together for him," Ciani had stated during their reunion at the keep. "The last living fragment of his human identity. If he lets that go... he'll be no more than a mindless demon. Dead, to all intents and purposes. A tool of your hell, without any will of his own."
The warrior knight shuddered to think of it. He actually wasn't quite sure what would be worse: witnessing the final death of the man he had once sworn to wipe off the face of the planet or seeing him in such a state of utter debasement, cruelly stripped off his genius, his hunger for knowledge and all the other minuscule fragments of the Prophet which had somehow survived the transformation into a bloodsucking creature of the night. He prayed to God that he would be spared both alternatives.
"I can almost hear you thinking," Tarrant interrupted his musings. "You don't trust me, eh?"
"Should I?"
Doubtlessly remembering their conversation in Kale, the adept smiled faintly. "I would say, in this particular case the answer is yes. Honestly, Vryce: Why on Earth and Erna should I fabricate something so embarrassingly soppy? If I merely wanted to bring you to heel, I could save myself the effort of blowing up your ego by telling fairy tales. Warping your mind until you believed that the sun rose in my face wouldn't cost me more than a fleeting thought. But for once, I'm free of guilt. Other than allowing myself to be tainted by your humanity, that is."
"So just let me put this in a nutshell: You developed a kind of crush on me and took what you wanted in the only way left to you. Is that correct?"
"Just so. But don't delude yourself. I'm still what the Unnamed made of me a thousand years ago. The parameters of my existence haven't changed, and should you decide to come after me one day, you'll get a nasty surprise. Putting the matters of the flesh over mind isn't among my in your eyes doubtlessly innumerable character flaws."
Vryce's mouth pulled into a broad grin. "As I've no intention whatsoever to make good on my promise to kill you anytime soon, I suppose I can live with that. But there's something I'd really like to know. Was inflicting those visions on me worth it in terms of pleasure gain?"
"Oh yes, it was," Tarrant breathed. "Sharing your orgasm via the link was almost as good as the real thing. If you aren't altogether averse to it, I could do with an encore in the near future."
Still grinning, Damien crossed the distance to him in three long strides and wrapped his arms around his waist, utterly unperturbed by the unearthly cold radiating from the Hunter's body. "It would be a pleasure for me. But why wait, Gerald? Dawn is still a few hours away, and I'm feeling quite... inspired all of a sudden. Nonetheless, I do have one condition: no visions this time, all right? As you were right in my head at the time, I won't pretend that they weren't stimulating, but I'd rather focus on us instead of watching you spreading your legs for another guy again."
"As you wish, Vryce. However, I surely don't have to remind you of the regrettable fact that participating in sexual intercourse is tantamount to committing suicide on my part, do I? There's no way around that restriction. I tried once, after overcoming the madness following my transformation, and I don't care to relive the experience."
"Don' worry. I'll keep my hands to myself. And other parts I won't mention. If anything, it peeves me that there's no decent bunk in this vulking hell hole. Having fun in the vertical isn't my cup of tee."
Tarrant arched a sceptical brow, but lay down on the makeshift bed the warrior knight had hastily made out of their outer wear and the one remaining blanket without raising further objections.
Staring at the man reclining gracefully at his side, his head propped up on an elbow and the flowing robes of an age long gone by delineating the contours of his tall, lean frame, Damien's mouth went dry with longing. But however tempting the view might be, he yet found it somewhat wanting. "I hope you won't think me brazen," he muttered awkwardly. "You're certainly a feast for the eyes in all that silk and stuff, but I'm curious as hell about what's beneath, if you know what I mean. I've only seen you naked once before, and as you were almost burned to a crisp at that time, it doesn't count towards my tally."
He half expected his request to fall on deaf ears, but very much to his amazement Gerald narrowed his eyes in concentration, and at the very next moment the better part of his clothes vanished into thin air. Just his boots and grey worsted leggings were still in place, a rather disappointing precaution, as far as Vryce was concerned.
Resigning himself to this small drawback, he unlaced his fly and freed his privates, wrinkling his nose at the stickiness in his briefs. He wasn't fully erect yet, not altogether surprising after coming like a horse not even half an hour ago. But as he let his gaze wander over Tarrant's leanly muscled body from top to toe, marvelling at the harmonious proportions and the inhuman flawlessness of skin that hadn't seen the sun for hundreds of years, his cock sprang to life again as if he were eighteen instead of thirty-five.
His first strokes were halting, a tentative testing of the waters. Of course he had jerked himself off before. After more than two decades of bringing the art to near perfection, it was almost as natural to him as breathing. But doing it in front of another man, that was an altogether different kettle of fish. Especially when said man was no other than the Lord of the Forest.
Doubtlessly registering his bout of nerves, the adept shot him an amused glance from under his long lashes. It somehow worked as an incentive. Banishing everything else from his mind, Damien concentrated on the sensations caused by his fingers slowly gliding up and down his shaft. It was pleasant but not quite what he wanted, and so he switched to the technique he'd been preferring since his adolescence, making a fist around his erection and pushing into it as if he were screwing someone. No, not just someone. The one and only man he had ever lusted after in his entire life.
With mounting arousal, his palm became slick with his own fluids, adding to the illusion. He could feel the tension rising in his body again, urging him to rock faster into the slippery heat with each passing second, and all the while the Hunter watched him hungrily, a slender hand resting on his chest.
As he went on, his entire world narrowed down to the exquisite build-up of pleasure in his abdomen, intensifying with each frantic motion of his pelvis, and those molten pools of silver glittering brighter than any star he had ever seen. He was close now, so very close, and Gerald was with him, connected to him by a link only death himself could sever, if at all.
As if to prove the point, Tarrant's face twisted into a grimace of ecstasy mirroring his own. His thin lips parted to let out a soft, half-strangled sob, and that was all it took to propel him beyond the point of no return. A shower of stars exploding behind his eyes, he lost himself in the rhythmic pulse deep inside him that pumped his seed out of him in hot, shuddering spurts, making him twitch and jerk and cry out the adept's name without giving a damn for eventual eavesdroppers.
Afterwards, they rested in each other's arms. Winded but utterly blissed out, Damien smiled against his almost lover's smooth chest. Only the Lord in His wisdom knew what would come out of this, whether their fragile relationship would stand the test of time in spite of their vast differences or their natural enmity would re-erupt one day, destroying everything they had established. The odds definitely were against them. But as surviving the following days was highly doubtful, not to mention returning to their homelands alive and in one piece, he decided not to worry too much. The future was the future, a shadowy realm of untrodden paths and branching out alternative routes a human mind couldn't possibly decipher. Smarter and more powerful sorcerers than him had acted on a Divining and botched it up on a grand scale, and he saw no reason for joining their ranks. Especially not when the immediate present was so very exhilarating.
Thinking of the present, something fell into place in his mind, and he suddenly remembered that they hadn't boarded the Desert Queen on their own. "Holy crap, you kept me so busy that I completely forgot about Hesseth and Jenseny! They must be scared shitless by now," he blurted out, feeling guilty as hell. "Considering your previous ill humour, they presumably fear that you dispatched me straight away."
The Hunter chuckled. "No need to get in a lather, Vryce. They're both asleep. You should do the same. With regard to the information I got from Moskovan, it's still a few hours until our arrival in Freeport. Rest now."
All at once, Damien couldn't keep his eyes open any longer. Sighing contentedly, he snuggled closer into Tarrant's chill embrace and dozed off, lulled to sleep by the gentle motions of the vessel carrying them to unknown shores.