I must admit, if only aloud to myself, that I have grown quite fond of this boy-this young man, in so many ways. On any given day, he is one of my most loyal allies, lacking any hesitation to do what is necessary, what he feels is right, no matter how heart-wrenching the task may be at times. I admire a man of such caliber. Perhaps that is how our friendship truly began, admiration for one another. How, then, did it escalate into this, I cannot be certain. I would not change it for anything.
Alone in my tent at dusk, some small part of him changes. Any trace of pride disappears on nights like this as he gracefully sinks to his knees before me. No words pass between us during such times anymore, not since the first encounter. Back then, I had thought it to be a joke, until his mouth awkwardly met my flesh. He had done...fairly well that evening, all things considered, though he outwardly admitted a dislike for the act. Yet he continues to do such things. I have asked him on many occasions why, even if I feel I already know the answer. In spite of the scoff and glare he usually gives as reply, I have the strongest feeling that he does it simply to make me happy, as it tends to happen on my particularly stressful evenings. He may not say so aloud, but I know. Over time he has figured out exactly what I like, what pleases me the most. A fast learner, that one. I suppose a part of me is proud to have helped him hone such skills, though it pains me to even imagine him using them on another. He assures me that he never will.
Softly I brush his raven hair away from his face, a smile crossing my lips at the way his brow pinches in concentration as he attempts to take in more, calloused hands clutching at my hips. His dark eyes squeezed shut. The wet sounds of his mouth working fill the air around us, echoing in my ears, not quite loud enough for the men outside to hear. I am having a difficult time keeping noises to myself, for fear of being discovered. The urge to push deeper continues wash over me with every breath; all I want is to grab hold of that silky hair and force him down further. But no, I cannot. Seeing him in this state is a privilege, one I know better than to throw away on some base desire. His distaste for the act makes him only so tolerant. I am certain that forcing anything on him would draw such moments to an abrupt end.
All I can do is murmur breathless words of encouragement to him, as I am already so far gone, barely able to keep my mind focused enough to bite back a moan. Those full lips, his skilled tongue, the muffled grunts he makes around my flesh-It seems with every encounter, he brings me to my end faster and faster. He knows this all too well, I am sure, easily recognizing the hitch in my breath, my feeble attempts to refrain from pressing deeper into his relaxed throat. His cheeks hollow once more, those dark feral eyes flicking up to meet mine in the dimming candlelight, and I cannot hold back any longer. As I found that sweet release, one hand grasping tightly in his hair, it was with a soft whisper of his name.
"C...Connor..."