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Gilmael awakened the following morning to the sight of an unfamiliar ceiling and the feeling of an arm atop his torso. Sunlight streaming in confirmed that not only had he stayed the night, but also stayed until way past dawn, something he had not done in ages. The latest he might linger was the wee hours before daybreak, but he’d made it a rule not to spend the night at all. So he avoided seeing the morning in with a lover, a practice that did not endear him to many of his bedmates. Fortunately for him, he did not really care.
But just as he was thinking of slipping away before Imri awakened, he remembered he’d agreed to ride with him to work. He sighed and wondered what had got into him to break his rule. It actually mattered that the Viraz heir did not see him and his bed manners in a bad light.
“Wherefore that frown so early in the day?”
Gilmael managed to suppress a start of surprise and focus his gaze on his companion. Imri gazed back with eyes still heavy with recently shed slumber. A silvery halo of charmingly unruly locks framed his face. He was a luscious sight and one Gilmael realized he did not mind beholding at the start of the day.
“I was only thinking of what’s in store for me today at work,” he fibbed.
Imri smiled. “With the amount of work you do and the number of people you meet most days, small wonder you frown just thinking about it.”
“How do you know that?”
“Aside from the late hours you keep when almost everyone else has gone home? Dylen has spoken of your habits and not always with approval.”
Though surprised that his cousin had shared more than casual chit chat about him with Imri, Gilmael quickly collected himself. “He chides me often enough,” he said with a gust of laughter. “Sometimes I think that was Rohyr’s purpose when he assigned Dylen to be my adjutant. Veres knows how often he used to scold me before Dylen took over from him.”
“They love you very much.”
“As I love them. It’s our way.”
“You’re very fortunate. Seldom do Deira of high station put kith and kin before their ambitions.”
“Your house is alike to mine in that regard or so I’ve heard.”
“So it is.” Imri raised himself on one arm and looked at him curiously. “I’ve wanted to ask, why didn’t you enter Foreign Affairs? I was surprised to learn you’d joined Intelligence instead.”
Gilmael shrugged. “I discovered I didn’t have the patience or honeyed tongue necessary for diplomatic work. I can’t shut off my emotions on demand or hide them behind false smiles and oily words.”
“Your cousin manages well enough.”
“Jareth is well suited to the profession. He was always a good actor even as a child. You must admit, diplomacy requires a certain amount of pretense.”
“I suppose it does. I can’t deny the number of times I had to stifle the desire to vent my spleen on a rogue in diplomat’s guise. Perhaps it’s just as well that I’m banned from a consular position. I can act the part, but the stress of it would likely drive me mad afore too long.” Before Gilmael could respond, Imri asked, “Will you join me for breakfast?’
Gilmael perked up. “I’d like that.” He threw back the covers whereupon the aroma of spent passion wafted up. “But methinks we should wash off last night’s frolics first.”
Imri laughed. “Of course we will. Think you I want to flaunt my personal business to the whole household?” He swung his legs off the side of the bed and got up. “Come, we can bathe together to save time.” He turned and walked toward the bathing room.
Gilmael watched him go, his lust awakening once more. All that ivory skin on so supple and beauteous a body. And those firm buttocks. He suddenly hankered to part them with his shaft and plunge once again into the heady delight of satin-bound strength and heat.
He entered the bathing room and saw it had been modernized with taps and hot and cold running water for the marbled sink, claw foot tub and bathing chute. It was another testament to the Virazes’ wealth. Only the moneyed could afford the costly renovations and sophisticated plumbling system required.
Imri stood beneath a stream of water in the partially enclosed bathing stall. He was about to reach for the bar of soap when Gilmael caught his wrist and turned him around. Imri looked at him questioningly. In answer, he turned off the chute then dropped to his knees and nuzzled the springy silver curls on Imri’s groin. He grinned when he heard a sharp intake of breath above him followed by a low moan when he licked a long stripe along the rapidly awakening shaft. He took the hard column into his mouth and proceeded to draw upon it with a hunger that surprised him.
He prided himself in knowing how to pleasure his partners in all ways save for playing the mare. But when he performed this particular act, it was more to render his companion more pliable to his desires rather than because he enjoyed taking another Deir’s member into his mouth. He liked the sensation of a thick shaft on his tongue, but he did not actively seek it for its sake. Now however, he relished the taste of Imri’s seed as it slowly leaked out. And he enjoyed plying his tongue upon the smooth capped head.
When Imri started to thrust into his mouth, he reached behind to slide a finger up his arse. Imri gasped at the intrusion but spread his legs slightly to allow better access. Gilmael continued to suck his shaft while pressing more fingers into him. There would be no need for more lubrication. Imri was still slick from last night.
Gilmael peppered his groin and thighs with kisses before laving the seed sac with his tongue. As he did, he caught a glimpse of the small aperture mostly concealed by the pouch. The thought of gloving himself within Imri’s sheath served to lengthen his shaft to full mast and he quickly rose to his feet, withdrawing his fingers while lowering his other hand to stroke the delicate flesh of the seed channel.
Imri sucked in his breath and stared at him in some alarm. Gilmael shook his head and murmured, “Not now.”
He did not pose it as a demand. He would never force his desires on others.
Imri let out a shuddery breath. “Eventually,” he whispered and pressed his mouth to Gilmael’s.
The kiss quickly evolved into a scorching caress. Gilmael hardened almost to bursting.
He broke their mouths’ embrace and growled, “Turn around.”
Eyes half-lidded and pale lips reddened, Imri complied.
Gilmael barely gave him time to ready himself when he plowed into him, taking him deep and hard and fast. Imri splayed his hands on the tiled wall to brace himself. When he could no longer bite back his moans, Gilmael reached around and took his shaft in hand. Imri loudly gasped as every thrust drove his shaft into his fist.
The sounds were music to Gilmael, evidence of his control and skill in pleasurable intercourse. But he was unprepared for the sharp thrill of victory when Imri turned his head and desperately pleaded, “Mercy, Gil! I don’t want the whole house to hear!”
Before he could respond, a sobbing keen escaped Imri even as his body trembled with the onset of completion. Gilmael quickly reached up with his other hand and clapped it over his mouth. Lost in the throes of his orgasm, Imri bit down on his palm hard enough to leave teethmarks in the flesh.
Not that Gilmael felt it or cared. He’d been fighting to maintain silence as well. But once silken muscles started to contract around his shaft, he knew the battle lost and he gave voice to his own pleasure. The exquisite sensations followed by warm seed smearing his fingers finished him off. He buried his face in the crook of Imri’s neck, sucking hard on fair flesh to stifle his groans.
It was a long while before either could speak. Gilmael carefully withdrew, missing Imri’s warmth almost at once. Veres almighty, if he got the chance to bed him again, not only would he stay overnight, he would also spend much of it sheathed inside him.
He grinned as warm water pelted his skin. Opening his eyes, he gazed at Imri who was rinsing off the evidence of their coupling. When he started to cleanse his backside, Gilmael pushed his hand away and took over.
Imri glanced over his shoulder at him. “One would think you hadn’t just fucked me into the wall,” he huffed. But his grin belied the bite of his words.
Gilmael smirked. “What can I say? You have a delectable arse. The best I’ve ever had.”
He snickered when Imri snorted and batted away his hand. “I suppose it’s high praise given the number of backsides you’ve plowed.” Imri playfully flicked water into his face. “Tell me, are the stories true? Have you really bedded more Deira than you can count?”
“And if they are?” Gilmael countered. “Does it bother you?”
“Only if I wind up just another name on your list of conquests. A truly long one I’ve heard.” Imri leaned sideways against the wall, watching Gilmael bathe. “I know it’s absurd to think about that now when I’ve had you up my arse more times than I’ve tupped anyone in months.”
“Months?” Gilmael eyed him disbelievingly. “Surely you have no shortage of admirers.”
Imri shrugged. “Few are interested in a widower with a child beyond bedplay. But I’m not one for casual tumbles.”
Gilmael gazed at him. “I take it you don’t see our tryst as a casual tumble.”
He noted the faintest flicker of uncertainty in Imri’s eyes. “I’d like to think it isn’t.”
How brave of him, Gilmael thought, taking a known rakehell to his bed. Trusting he would not be tired of and sent on his way like so many past lovers. Considering their former enmity, one might call it foolhardy. But he did not think Imri could ever be deemed foolhardy.
He turned off the water and leaned forward to bestow a long, liquid kiss on Imri. He drew back and looked him in the eye. “It isn’t. It won’t be. Though...” He sighed and straightened. “I hope you understand that I’m not ready to put myself on the marriage mart right now, gossip notwithstanding.”
Imri smiled. “We’re in accord there. I merely wished to know where I stand with you.” He grabbed towels from an overhead shelf and handed one over.
As he wiped himself dry, Gilmael considered his next words. He would not deny how much he enjoyed coupling with Imri. He even admitted he missed his company when they did not see each other for any length of time. But he had not yet reached the point where he could own himself smitten enough to propose something as binding as wedlock or even betrothal. Nonetheless, he was curious about the extent of Imri’s attraction to him.
“And where do I stand with you?” he asked.
Imri slowed his towelling. He averted his gaze. “I should avoid you,” he murmured. “Our families aren’t on good terms and likely won’t be for the foreseeable future. We treated each other abominably at university and when we met again. My parents will likely call me mad to have taken you into my bed. And yet...” He looked at Gilmael, almost shyly it seemed. “I’m drawn to you. I tell myself I shouldn’t be, but I am. So ... make of that what you will.”
He moved to exit the bathing stall. Gilmael caught his wrist and pulled him back. He looked into questioning gray eyes and found himself searching for the right words. He’d always been straightforward with prior partners especially when he sought to sever ties with them, reasoning it was better to tell the truth however painful than delay the inevitable with dissimulation or falsehoods. But now he was hesitant to hurt the Deir before him or disillusion him so soon.
“I’m glad,” he finally said. “I enjoy your company very much. Had we not met as we did back then, I wager we might have become friends. Perhaps more.”
Imri’s answering smile was dazzling. Gilmael decided then and there that he wanted to see his new lover smile thusly as often as possible.
––––––––
Mishar was utterly delighted when they entered the dining room together. He greeted Gilmael with a smile to equal his sire’s. So elated was he that he chattered almost non-stop which prompted Imri to remind him to spoon honey-sweetened porridge or chunks of steamed sausage into his mouth.
Thankfully, it did not occur to him that Gilmael’s presence so early in the day meant he’d stayed the night. He did not seem to recognize the borrowed clothing either. Granted, even if he realized Gilmael had never left the premises, he was too young and innocent to consider where he’d slept. But there was always the possibility a servant might let slip the truth and Gilmael was not sure he was up to the challenge of answering questions that might lead to potentially awkward explanations.
Seated across from the happy tyke, he wondered if he’d ever had a more fulfilling start to a day. Looking from Imri to Mishar, he realized a void he had not been aware of had been filled if only for one morning.
Seeking to keep the void filled, he carried on his affair with Imri even at work. Nor did he trouble to hide their relationship as had been his habit in previous liaisons with anyone at his Ministry. He broke rule after rule. Yet he was quick to declare that there was no romance to speak of, only passion more intense than he’d ever felt before.
“Who are you trying to convince, dear cousin?” Dylen asked when he foisted that reasoning on him. “Me or yourself?”
Gilmael looked at him askance. “What are you insinuating?”
Dylen smirked. “That you’ve shoved your head so high up your arse, you can’t see past your bowels to perceive the truth.”
Gilmael screwed up his face at the image Dylen’s words conjured. “That’s highly disturbing.”
“As they say, the truth can hurt.”
“Deity’s blood!” Gilmael slammed his palms down on his desk. “I’m not in love with him!”
Dylen’s eyebrows rose high at his reaction. “Did I say you were? Methinks you protest overmuch. I only suggested that you feel much more for him than mere physical desire. Why so defensive?”
Gilmael closed his mouth with an almost audible snap. If he continued to argue with Dylen, he would probably dig himself a hole so deep he’d come out on the other side of Aisen.
He waspishly said, “I have no time for your baseless speculations. Go bother someone who hasn’t anything better to do than listen to your prattle.”
Dylen narrowed his eyes at him. “As you wish, Dyhar,” he bit out, all humor gone.
“Heyas,” Gilmael muttered. “Dy, I didn’t mean—”
He watched in some frustration and not a little guilt as his cousin swept out of the office. Dylen was not easily riled to the point of leaving in a huff. Gilmael groaned and sat back. He would seek him out later and apologize. Dylen hardly ever held a grudge but when he did, it could entail much groveling to appease him.
––––––––
Golden light filtered in through the veiled windows as the sinking sun signalled the end of another workday. Gilmael neither noticed nor cared. He let out a shuddery breath as each lowering of Imri’s buttocks sheathed him in sweet velvety heat.
He lowered his gaze to roam the Deir’s nude body. It lingered on his well-knit torso, the way his thigh muscles contracted and relaxed as he rode Gilmael’s shaft, and his length thick and long as it bounced with each movement. Taking Imri’s hand, he wove their fingers together and then wrapped them around his lover’s shaft.
Stroke yourself.
Imri’s eyes alighted on their coupled hands upon his shaft. He glanced up and met Gilmael’s appreciative stare. The color deepened in his cheeks but he closed his eyes and tilted his head back as he obeyed. A throaty moan escaped his lips.
Gilmael tried to delay his orgasm that he may enjoy being inside his lover a while longer. But the sight of him with his head thrown back in rapture and gasping helplessly as he approached the brink of completion pushed him over the edge.
He thrust his hips up to take him deep and hard as he spent copiously. Imri came to his release soon after. He sobbed out Gilmael’s name as he climaxed, dappling their chests and bellies with his seed. And then he slowly collapsed onto Gilmael’s chest.
They lay quietly, waiting for their hearts to slow and their breathing to even. Gilmael carded his fingers through pale silken locks.
It was now a fortnight since they first coupled. And nearly every day found them in some sexual act or another, occasionally at the Viraz town house, but more times in Gilmael’s office especially when Mishar twice caught them with their breeches down. He’d not yet invited Imri to the Calanthe residence three blocks away nor had he informed his parents or twin that he was carrying on with the Viraz heir.
It was not that he was ashamed of the affair. Rather he was delaying the need to explain to them why he’d turned around and bedded the Deir he’d virulently opposed for so many years.
He would tell them soon he’d promised Imri. His lover proved braver than he, voicing a desire to inform his parents of their involvement. But he’d acceded to Gilmael’s request that they do so at the same time, admitting Hedhral Viraz would be eager to make it known that a Calanthe had succumbed to the charms of his only son.
Imri raised himself to gaze at him, resting one arm on his chest. Gilmael looked him over lazily. With most of his torso marked with crimson and purple bruises, he looked pleasantly debauched.
“Have I ever told you how prettily you blush?” Gilmael teased as he tucked a stray silver strand behind Imri’s ear.
Imri wrinkled his nose. “I’m no fragile throwback to call pretty if you please,” he mildly chided. “Would you have me call you lovely in turn?”
Gilmael grimaced. “Definitely not.”
“I thought so.”
They grinned at each other before reaching for their scattered clothing. Gilmael handed Imri one of the small towels he’d taken to keeping in his office ever since they started tupping on the premises. After wiping off the evidence of their exertions, they donned their clothes. Gilmael was pulling on his boots when someone knocked on the door.
“Yes?” he called out, not inclined at the moment to discern with his mind who it was.
“It’s Selvin. Would you care to join me for tea? The tea-room across the street introduced some really good buns.”
Gilmael sighed. Of late, he was finding Selvin tedious and too clingy for comfort.
“Maybe later,” he answered.
Selvin’s voice sounded rather whiny. “But it’s already quite late and—”
“Tomorrow then!” Gilmael snapped.
“Gil?” Selvin was obviously shocked. When he spoke again, he sounded quite dejected. “Very well.”
Gilmael waited for his tread to fade away. He turned back and saw that Imri was regarding him a bit reprovingly.
“What?”
Imri shook his head and murmured, “That wasn’t very nice.”
“Would you prefer I went with him and left you to clean up?”
“Of course not. But there are kinder ways of letting someone down.”
“You don’t know Selvin. He’d have continued to badger me if I didn’t put my foot down. Sometimes I wonder why I’ve tolerated his behavior all these years.”
“Why do you?” Imri curiously asked. “Indeed, how came you to be friends with him? He doesn’t strike me as the sort you typically make a friend of.”
“Oh? And just what sort do I typically make a friend of?”
“I noticed back in Losshen, the Deira you count as friends are those most similar in nature to your closest kin. Selvin is a pleasant enough fellow, but he’s no match for any of your cousins in wit or charm and certainly not in appearance. He’s a far cry from all your other boon companions for that matter. Not that I think myself his better,” Imri hastily added. “I just noticed how different he is from the others.”
“You are his better,” Gilmael said. “And you aren’t wrong about him. Verily, I’m not sure why I continue to keep company with him. He’s not particularly witty or engaging. And he’s changed much from the Deir I knew in university.”
“How so?”
“He was easy to get along with. He didn’t have very strong opinions about anything so we seldom argued, but when we did, he was always quick to placate me. I was an opinionated hothead back then and didn’t suffer back talk gladly.” Gilmael ruefully grinned when Imri snorted in agreement. “I realize now he was a willing doormat which suited me just fine. I was content with the friendships I already had. I didn’t really care for new ones, particularly if it entailed putting too much effort into them. What can I say? I was hardly a paragon then.”
“You were no paragon at all,” Imri tartly reminded him to his amusement. “It begs the question though. What did Selvin see in you that he was willing to put in all the effort required to gain your notice?”
“Bless if I know! Zykriel didn’t care for him either. He even questioned my wits. He called me a gullible fool when I told him Selvin didn’t ingratiate himself with me like others did once they learned of my kinship to Rohyr.” Gilmael abruptly paused and frowned. “Or maybe his servility was his way of ingratiating himself with me ... and Zykriel suspected it. Heyas! Why didn’t I think of that?”
“I wager he played the doormat so well, it appeared to be his nature,” Imri said comfortingly. “Zykriel had the benefit of observing him with a jaundiced eye. It’s only now that you’re viewing him from another perspective. Perhaps a clearer one.”
Gilmael pursed his lips. “I remember when he sought employment here. He made much of our acquaintance. I chalked it up to his determination to work under me. But now I wonder if he merely deems his ties to me a means to his ends.”
“Why? What has he done?”
“I’ve noticed that he flaunts our friendship whenever he seeks favors from others.”
“You’re uncomfortable with that? Surely you’re accustomed to people using you thusly. It comes with being scion of a great House.”
Gilmael sighed. “I care little if mere acquaintances act that way. But it feels like a betrayal when one I call friend uses our relationship to puff himself up. It’s why I don’t cultivate friendships outside Losshen save for members of my House.”
“And Selvin.”
“And him.” Gilmael huffed in frustration. “Now that you’ve pointed out his unsuitability, I can’t for the life of me justify befriending him.”
“You gave valid reasons.”
“Or excuses for a lapse in judgment.”
Imri shook his head. “Perhaps not so much a lapse in judgment as answering a need at the time.” He smiled sympathetically. “You sought and he provided an uncomplicated relationship that did not require much compromise or effort on your part to maintain. But now that need no longer exists so it’s no wonder you question the appeal of someone so different from what you usually look for in a friend.”
Gilmael gazed at him. “When did you become so wise?”
Imri snorted. “I’ve always been wise, Calanthe. You just didn’t want to admit it.” He pressed a quick kiss to Gilmael’s mouth, forestalling an indignant response. “You’ve opened your eyes though. I find this side of you very much to my liking.”
Whatever he was going to retort forgotten, Gilmael smirked and pulled Imri into another kiss. “Is that so?” he drawled. “Take care, Viraz, you may rouse me anew. You won’t make it home early enough to tuck Mishar into bed.”
Imri laughed and suddenly straddled his lap. “I can make it up to him this week’s end. It seems I’ve developed a desire to go home feeling you all of tomorrow.”
Not unexpectedly, the floor was once more littered with clothing as Gilmael proceeded to grant Imri’s request. And more.