Vernon Roche was in his forest. Iorveth could sense the dh'oine by the heat of anger that swelled in his abdomen when he heard leaves crackling under heavy boots several yards off. The scent of spilled blood—nonhuman blood—clung to Roche from the fray in Flotsam. Iorveth wouldn't have been surprised to hear that Roche had participated in the massacre himself. Bloede dh'oine.
Iorveth turned and focused his single eye, all pupil, on a slit between the trees. By now he could hear Roche stumbling like a drunkard through the forest, swearing whenever a twig snagged his headdress. Iorveth knew that Roche was only drunk on anger—and perhaps on embarrassment. Earlier in the evening, Roche had staged a disastrous ambush on the scoia'tael. In addition to losing most of the men he'd brought from Flotsam, Roche had allowed the kingslayer to escape and had inadvertently sparked the massacre—though Iorveth supposed that Roche would blame him for all of these events. Not that Roche gave a she-troll's tit about the murdered elves and dwarves.
The anger boiled in Iorveth's stomach again. He drew his sword.
He could have killed Roche with an arrow to the forehead, but he wasn't aiming to kill. That was too good for Roche. Instead, he would take the esteemed Blue Stripes commander's pride. Then he would make him live with the memory.
When Roche broke into a clearing, Iorveth attacked. He swung his blade through the trees and leaped after it into the clearing just as Roche raised his sword to parry the blow.
"Iorveth," Roche snarled.
"Do you enjoy saying my name?" Iorveth asked. Roche swung at his chest, but Iorveth rolled to the right with the agility of a true squirrel, slicing through the leg of Roche's trousers as he went. He was to his feet by the time Roche spun around. Their swords met with a clang like white-hot lightning. Worse was the slow, demanding screech that nearly sheered their ears off as their blades fought for dominance. Iorveth's lips curled back over his teeth. Roche was strong, but not strong enough for Iorveth. He could feel Roche's muscles beginning to tremble under the strain of their deadlock, smell the salty human sweat gathering on the soldier's brow.
Summoning his anger, Iorveth shoved his blade into Roche's until it seemed that one or the other must shatter. Roche could hold his defense no longer. His elbow bent backward, his wrist twisting painfully as his sword fell back over his shoulder.
Iorveth stripped the sword from his opponent's loosened grip and crossed the steel blades over Roche's neck.
"And so the brave commander falls to the scoia'tael he has sworn to defeat."
Roche spat on his shoes. "No need for a speech. Get it over with. I'm prepared to die."
Iorveth smirked at that. "I'd rather have you do something for which you aren't prepared."
He used the blades under Roche's chin to tilt the man's head up until he was forced to look at Iorveth's crotch.
"Suck me off, Roche."
Roche choked on his disgust.
"You're sick," he spewed.
"Be that as it may," Iorveth drawled, "put your mouth on my cock and learn to service a man like the bitch you are."
"You'll have to kill me first," Roche said.
"I shan't kill you. I'll simply give that handsome face of yours a scar like mine."
Iorveth bent his head so he could use his elbow to push up the scarf he wore around his damaged eye. Roche had never before seen the scoia'tael leader's scar. His horror gleamed in the whites of his eyes. Iorveth knew the look well: every woman he took to bed turned cold if she got a glimpse of the angry scream of a wound that ran from his lip to the abyss of his eye socket, puckered over with skin the color of red wine. He generally kept the scarf on when he had female company.
But Roche was no woman, and Iorveth felt no need to make him comfortable. Still holding the swords, he undid his belt with a few swift moves of his ring fingers. The belt slid down his legs and pulled his leather trousers down around his narrow hips before it thudded to the ground.
"Suck," he commanded again.
"I'll bite it off," Roche hissed.
"And then I'll have your eye."
Iorveth knew that Roche didn't have the balls to gnaw off a man's dick. He was too civilized, too reluctant to deviate from the accepted order of things. And above all, he was whipped to a king—at least, he was before Foltest's death. Perhaps Roche needed a new king. One who would be more authoritative than that driveling fool of a Temerian monarch.
"I grow tired of waiting," Iorveth warned, sliding one blade menacingly up Roche's cheek. Truly, he was enjoying Roche's discomfort. Having Roche on his knees had Iorveth's cock nicely plumped, though he would need stroking to maximize his length. Elves were not picky about their sexual partners' genitals. Their lives were too long to be spent only with the opposite sex. Besides, Roche was handsome for a dh'oine—and, most important, he was helpless to refuse.
With the stony eyes of a man who would rather be hanged than handle another man's dick, Roche raised his hands to untie the laces of Iorveth's trousers. His fingers accidentally brushed against Iorveth's taut lower abdomen, and the sudden touch sent thrills down Iorveth's thighs. He hadn't expected to be so excited for his enemy's submission. He drew the blades from Roche's neck and planted them in the dirt, keeping his hands on the hilts. They would be there if he needed them.
When Roche had finished unthreading the laces, he peeled the leather down around Iorveth's lower thighs. He stopped when he found the tip of Iorveth's cock—just a few inches above the elf's knee.
"Impressed, d'hoine?" Iorveth laughed. He knew he was large. Reveled in it. It helped him gain respect among his men, and there was never a shortage of women who, despite fearing him for his reputation, threw themselves upon him to satisfy their curiosity about his reputation in bed.
At Roche's silence, he added, "Or perhaps you're envious?"
Roche tightened his lips. Iorveth was surprised that what the esteemed Blue Stripes commander did next did not burst his pretty little head: He wrapped his hand around the base of Iorveth's pride and joy and pumped it slowly over the head, then back again, faster this time, rolling the foreskin back and forth over the elf's solid length. Roche had the hands of a soldier, calloused and rough. The heat that ran through them warmed Iorveth's abdomen and made his cock grow harder still.
Iorveth held back a moan. No need to let Roche hear how much he was enjoying this. Instead he said, "You know what you're doing."
"I do have one," Roche grumbled.
"But have you ever tasted one?" With that, Iorveth threw Roche's sword behind him into the forest, where neither man would be able to reach it. He used his free hand to tear Roche's scarf from his head. The headdress fluttered into a nearby bush, where it snagged and likely tore. Roche's dark auburn hair was held back in a short ponytail about the length of a doe's tail. Iorveth wrapped his fingers around the ponytail and steered Roche's face into the heat of his crotch. Surely Roche had at least received one blowjob in his life, Iorveth thought. He had to know what to do with a dick.
"Remember—it's for your eye."
"Fuck you," Roche muttered, but he positioned the pulsing head in front of his lips and gave it a tentative lick. After a few more licks at the head, Roche slid his thick, hot tongue down Iorveth's length, ending near the elf's swelling sack. He did the same on the other side, coating the skin with his saliva. Iorveth watched his dick quiver with excitement. It had been three weeks or more since he'd had time to seek out pleasure, what with his deal gone sour with Letho and Roche's arrival in Flotsam. When Iorveth's cock was slick and ready, Roche parted his lips around the head, only barely allowing Iorveth into his mouth. Iorveth thrust his hips impatiently, forcing Roche to take more of him. Roche gagged.
"If you die giving me head, that's all you'll be remembered for," Iorveth mused.
Roche slid his lips back around Iorveth's cock. His tongue briefly lapped at the crease on the underside of the head before his mouth shot back down to the base, blowing Iorveth on his own terms this time.
Iorveth tightened his grip on Roche's ponytail. "That's it, dh'oine."
Roche's big mouth was finally going to good use. Once the Blue Stripes commander had gotten used to the feeling of having a dick in his mouth, he'd developed a pleasantly rough rhythm, his head bobbing up and down against Iorveth's crotch at a speed that someone with a smaller mouth couldn't have managed. Probably Roche was only doing his best work because he wanted to get this over with as quickly as possible. Iorveth didn't care what his motivation was. He held Roche's head closer to his body and felt his dick slip into the man's throat. Ignoring Roche's gag reflex, he tilted his hips back and slammed himself forward. Already, heat was gathering like a storm cloud across his lower abdomen, threatening to light him up. He couldn't allow Roche to see him finish so quickly.
Yanking on Roche's ponytail, he pulled himself out of that lovely mouth and ordered, "Enough."
Roche swiped at his mouth with the back of his hand. He was smiling.
"Couldn't take any more?" he teased. "You're leaking like a virgin."
Iorveth felt himself reddening. "I lost my virginity centuries before you were born, dh'oine."
His words didn't make a dent in Roche's smirk. Gingerly, with one eye on Iorveth's sword (the steel one), Roche trailed his fingers up the elf's thigh, toward his groin. Then he lowered his mouth to the tingling skin and slid his tongue from Iorveth's knee to his hipbone. Iorveth's knees began to quiver. He couldn't remember when he had last been so aroused. Roche's hand found its way back to Iorveth's cock, stroking it gently and rolling a thumb over the head until Iorveth was on the verge of collapse.
To hide his weakness, Iorveth let his sword fall to the ground behind him and pounced on Roche with a low growl. Roche fell backward with Iorveth straddling his hips. The elf pushed his prey to the ground and placed his fists on either side of Roche's head before dipping down to deliver a rough, biting kiss. He nibbled on Roche's lower lip and pushed his tongue into the man's mouth as though it were a battering ram. Roche's tongue pushed back, but Iorveth had the advantage of being on top. Iorveth swiped his tongue along the roof of Roche's mouth to claim his territory before sitting back on his heels to tear at the commander's clothing.
Roche gave up his jacket and undershirt, but he held Iorveth's wrist firmly above his trouser buttons.
"We're in the middle of a forest," he protested.
"You just blew me in this forest and nobody walked in on us," Iorveth said. "Take your ploughing clothes off."
"Our men could find us. Surely even you don't want that."
Iorveth rolled his eyes. His own men would enjoy seeing Vernon Roche fucked up the ass, but he knew that wouldn't settle Roche's fears.
"Into the trees, then. But drop your pants on the way there."
Roche did as he was told, unbuckling his belt and unbuttoning his trousers while he stepped out of the clearing and into the bushes. Iorveth threw the discarded swords and clothes behind an adjacent bush, adding to the pile his jacket and undershirt. He could see Roche watching him from the trees—or, more accurately, he could see Roche watching the glint of sunlight on his lean pectoral muscles and the sharp, shifting shadows that outlined his scars. Iorveth admired Roche in return, taking in his broad shoulders and narrow hips as he closed the space between them and stripped away the last clothing that remained between his manhood and Roche's.
Roche's mouth tasted salt and smoke, and his skin grew hot under Iorveth's fingertips as they explored the Blue Stripes commander's body. For the first time, Iorveth grasped Roche's cock. It wasn't as large as Iorveth's, but Iorveth had been around long enough to know that length wasn't everything. He listened to Roche's breathing grow shallow as he toyed with the head, already purple with unexpressed longing.
"You want me," Iorveth whispered in the commander's ear.
Roche moaned. "I ploughing hate you."
"I don't love you either, dh'oine."
Iorveth lowered Roche to the forest floor and knelt over him once again, this time keeping a hand on the other man's cock. He gave it a few teasing pumps, fighting the urge to touch his own dick when Roche began to buck beneath him.
"Gods," Iorveth breathed. He searched for an outlet for his desire. Finding one, he brought his mouth to Roche's neck and began to leave his mark, kissing and biting and nipping and sucking as his hand expertly worked Roche's cock and Roche gasped in his ear. Roche was close to his climax. Iorveth pulled his hand away.
Roche groaned in protest. "Don't stop, you fucking tease," he growled.
Iorveth shoved two fingers into the man's open mouth. "Suck."
Roche narrowed his eyes, suspecting what was coming. After a pause, he ran his tongue over Iorveth's slim elfin fingers and sucked them as he had earlier sucked the elf's dick. Iorveth withdrew his fingers and spread Roche's legs. He brushed one finger from the base of Roche's penis down to his opening, inserting it cautiously so minimize squirming. To his surprise, both fingers went in easily.
"You're not new to this, dh'oine," he laughed.
Roche took hold of Iorveth's hips and guided them toward his opening. "Neither are you. Now fuck me before I change my mind."
Iorveth's tip brushed against the entrance, sending spasms through his thighs. He wouldn't make himself wait any longer. He plunged into Roche with little resistance, and the man's ass squeezed his cock in a warm embrace. Iorveth's head swam. Roche used the opportunity to flip Iorveth onto his back, taking the elf deep within himself and making Iorveth see stars. Roche threw his head back in ecstasy, his face framed by the dark hair that had escaped from his ponytail.
Roche's movements felt delicious—but Iorveth needed a way to reclaim dominance. Roche's dick flapped against his stomach with every thrust. He reached out to stroke it. Roche moaned and rode him harder, pumping himself in Iorveth's fist. It wasn't long before hot, sticky cum was leaking through Iorveth's fingers and splattering onto his chest. Roche shuddered above him, beautiful in his rapture. Iorveth flipped them back over so he could thrust himself to his finish and watch Roche writhe with the aftershocks of pleasure beneath him.
When he came, he exploded into Roche's backside. Sticky liquid spilled out onto the forest floor and pooled at the small of Roche's back. Iorveth collapsed onto Roche's abdomen and rested his head beside his enemy's. Their cocks touched as they relaxed. Birds chirped. Leaves rustled. For a moment, Iorveth felt at peace.
The whining of a blade swinging through the air interrupted them in the act of something that was in danger of becoming snuggling. Lying down behind the bushes, they were out of view of the clearing, but through the leaves, Iorveth could just make out Geralt twirling into the clearing after an endrega warrior. The witcher plunged his silver sword into the insectoid's back and rolled away as the monster's guts splattered across the dirt. Geralt was off as quickly as he had come, running—thankfully—into the bushes opposite them.
Iorveth glanced at his companion. Roche's cheeks were flushed with sex and the embarrassment of almost being caught by the witcher. Iorveth grinned. "Too bad we moved over here. We could have asked him to join us."
Roche glared at him. "You won't speak to him of this."
"Why? Have you been trying to romance him on your own?"
"You know why," Roche spat. "We can't be seen together like this. We're supposed to be trying to kill each other."
Iorveth rested back on his elbows and gave Roche's ponytail a playful tug. "I'll have plenty of time to kill you in the future. For now, I'd rather top you."