Entwined Hearts
Well, sort of.
Vachelleus and Gareth both want more than just friendship, but what will it take to get these two would-be lovers together? Apparently, a tavern brawl for starters.
M/Enby
seat at the tavern’s bar, feet propped on the thick piece of timber that was bolted the length of the bar at foot level for just such a purpose. Faiza swooped in from behind the bar, banging down their dinner and another mug of cider.
“What’s got you so slouchy tonight? Hard day at work?”
Vachelleus nodded in answer to Faiza’s question, then reached for the bowl. The scent of stewed root vegetables and meat filled their nose, making their stomach rumble. The stew here was mouthwatering, and it was served with a slab of hard, sharp cheese, and a generous hunk of the best sourdough bread for a hundred leagues in any direction. When you stopped at Faiza’s tavern for dinner, you could always count on a hearty and delicious meal.
“Thank you, Faiza, for always feeding me after work.” They quirked a smile at their best friend, whose hands-on-hips stance indicated that she wasn’t ready to let her question go so easily. Vachelleus continued, “Yes, a very busy day, but not a bad one. Some days are harder than others and take a bit more out of me.” They let out a deep sigh, “I’m just tired and need a good night’s sleep.”
Faiza harrumphed, hands still on her hips. The small tongues of flame housed in glass orbs around the inside of the tavern flared then settled, in sync with their maker’s thoughts. As a Fire Witch, Faiza’s tavern was delightfully free of the smoke that usually filled the air of other public, indoor places; in exchange, the light level occasionally fluctuated depending on her mood.
“What you need is to get laid. I think that Duke Gareth will be here later, most likely, and you and he could always...” Faiza trailed off, eyes narrowing at the small group of men that walked through the door of the tavern, and Vachelleus turned to see what had gotten their friend’s attention.
Five men in total, none of them familiar faces from the village or surrounding area. Not surprising that strangers passing through would stop here at Faiza’s tavern, as it was the only one in the village that also had an inn attached. These men, however, didn’t look or feel like average travelers to Vachelleus; they felt… off. It bothered Vachelleus that they couldn’t pinpoint what exactly felt wrong with the group. Carefully, Vachelleus extended a thread of their magic. Usually, they used their power to find hidden or internal wounds in need of healing, but they’d also found they could use their magic to sense more than just physical wounds. Vachelleus was also able to sense emotional wounds, wounds of one’s spirit, and magical wounds that were otherwise invisible. Vachelleus’ power gently brushed against each of the men, a touch so light it went unnoticed by the group. Each man’s spirit held a tinge of emptiness, like part of it was being hidden or was perhaps missing altogether. Vachelleus’ magic recoiled, rushing back into them in protest at the wrongness they’d touched. Turning back toward their dinner with an imperceptible shudder, they filed their observations away. Next time Ellie was in town to pick up her order of supplies, they’d mention it. Perhaps she’d heard of something similar or knew what kind of magic would make folks feel noticeably incomplete. Ellie knew all kinds of weird shit and was Vachelleus’ go-to resource when said weird shit turned up in their hometown.
They could tell that Faiza had also sensed the not-rightness of the group, but since the men hadn’t done anything yet besides walk into the tavern and seat themselves at a table, there was nothing to be done about them except take their order, which one of Faiza’s servers quickly went to do.
Faiza locked her eyes with her best friend and Vachelleus saw the unease that rested there. The two held each other’s gaze for a moment, then Faiza gave a brief nod before bustling off to take another order, farther down the bar. Vachelleus knew that Faiza would let Cadmus know about the group, just in case.
The tavern was attached to the inn, which was run by Faiza’s husband, Cadmus. Cadmus was a huge bear of a man, bald as an egg, but with a massive, dark mustache and beard that was impressive even at a distance and almost seemed to have a life of its own. The inn and adjoining tavern were officially named ‘The Salamander & the Serpent’, but everyone in town referred to them separately as, “The Inn,” and, “Faiza’s Tavern.”
In contrast to her husband, Faiza was short and slender; her somewhat curly hair was so black it gleamed blue in certain light, and her skin was a few shades darker golden brown than Vachelleus’ own. Faiza also came from folk that lived in a desert area, but her ancestors’ deserts were far to the south and bordered by grasslands, whereas Vachelleus’ ancestors came from the eastern, mountain-locked desert. Faiza was a formidable Fire Witch and if the strangers did have the misfortune to try anything stupid in her tavern, she might let them live to regret it.
Vachelleus polished off the last of their supper, hoping that their friend had forgotten about her prescription for what, in her opinion, would make them feel better. Unfortunately, Faiza had not forgotten about her recommendation of sex with the man Vachelleus had been having amorous dreams about for months.
“So, as I was saying, His Royal Highness, Prince Gareth, youngest son of the House of Genidia, and who also happens to be Duke of this very region since his marriage to Duchess Katriin, will likely be here tonight, and perhaps the two of you can—”
“Faiza! I am not going to try to seduce someone who’s in a committed relationship, Duke or otherwise.” They scowled at their friend, surprised and offended that she’d thought to even suggest it; is that what Faiza thought of them? That they were so desperate for a fuck and so utterly undesirable by everyone eligible that they’d have to try for folks already taken?
Faiza gaped at her friend, realizing they were serious in their ire. In as soft a tone as she could manage, she replied, “Vachelleus, I would never suggest that. What I would suggest, however, is that you either live under a rock, you work too much, or both.”
Vachelleus drew their brows down in confusion. “What?”
Faiza had paused in wiping invisible specks of dust from her spotless bar top to rub the bridge of her nose. “My dearest of friends and apparent avoider of commonly held knowledge; Duchess Katriin and Duke Gareth have had an open marriage since their youngest child turned three or so, which was roughly six years ago. The Duchess has two lovers, in fact, who live at the castle with her as recognized consorts. Duke Gareth has had a passing lover here and there, but no one that anyone else is aware of in the past few years. So yes, I am suggesting that you do your damnedest to seduce a married man, but said married man is free to be seduced.”
Faiza continued, her tone turning dry, “Also, it would be an immense relief to me if the two of you got together since when you’re in the same vicinity, I can all but see the sparks crackling between you and the air grows so thick with tragically repressed sexual tension, I fairly choke.”
Vachelleus rolled their eyes, but they couldn’t deny Faiza’s assessment of what happened any time they and Gareth were in the same room. The duke visited the village once a week to make rounds, check in with the townsfolk and generally make sure everything was going smoothly, and if not, figure out ways to address the issues before they spiraled out of control. It was one of the many things that made Gareth and Katriin exceptional rulers, and beloved by those under their governance; they were never out of touch with what was going on in the village proper or the surrounding land that was part of their Duchy. They cared for their people and the land, and their people loved them for it.
Duke Gareth also usually stopped by Faiza’s Tavern for dinner and whatever entertainment that night’s bard or mendicant was offering after he’d completed his weekly rounds in town. Almost a year ago, this is where he and Vachelleus had rather accidentally struck up a casual friendship that had at some point started to shift toward something more; something with sparks and heat and annoying fluttery feelings in Vachelleus’ midsection.
The tavern’s bar was starting to get crowded with patrons looking to buy drinks, so Vachelleus thanked their friend again for supper and got up from the bar. Vachelleus made their way to a small, unspoken-for table in the back corner of the tavern which happened to be their favorite. Here they’d have a bit of space from the loudest and rowdiest of the tavern-goers, although no one in town ever got too terribly rowdy at Faiza’s. When she and Cadmus had opened the inn and tavern, Faiza had nailed a large piece of velum with “Faiza’s Rules” printed in large, dark letters to the doors into her domain. There weren’t many rules, but what there were mostly forbade brawling inside her tavern, throwing anything at anyone, spilling blood on the floor or furniture, and touching her staff without their permission. The last rule was usually a surprise to travelers from outside of the Duchy, many of whom were used to groping their servers, permission or not, as part of their expected evening entertainment. It only took Faiza cutting off the hands of a few men, however, for word to get around that she was serious about her rules, especially the ‘No Touching’ one. To be fair, below the rules she’d also printed the consequences if said rules were broken, including the cutting off of a hand if patrons forgot to keep their hands to themselves.
With a smile, Vachelleus remembered being told the story of the first time Faiza had enforced the ‘No Touching’ rule by cutting off a man’s hand; she’d been summoned to an audience with Duchess Katriin and asked to clarify and justify her actions. Faiza had calmly explained that since almost all folk in the land were taught to read and write, there was little excuse for most anyone not to be aware of the rules and consequences for breaking them. When guesting her establishment, folks could only enter through the two large doors on which said rules and consequences were clearly posted. Faiza then compared keeping her staff safe from assault to Her Grace keeping the people on her lands safe from assault, and Katriin hadn’t disagreed. The duchess then told Faiza that she expected to be informed immediately should she find herself severing additional hands in the future. Faiza agreed, but said that the notification would be sent immediately once any blood was cleaned up. Faiza had hastily added that she didn’t want blood stains on her furniture or floors to sit, since they were hard to get out once they’d dried and set. The Duchess had been almost successful at covering her laugh with a cough and had agreed that this was acceptable, since bloodstains were indeed difficult to get out of just about anything once they’d set. Faiza had held the Duchess in an even higher regard after that than she had before and had made sure to promptly notify Her Grace about the severing of hands each of the few subsequent times it happened.
The bard for the night had already begun his set of songs, starting off with a few that were widely known and popular to sing along with. Most of the tavern’s patrons were delightedly singing with the bard, so they didn’t notice when a large man entered the back of the tavern via the door from the inn. He paused a moment, eyes scanning the room, then smiled as his eyes lit upon a lone figure sitting at their favorite table in the back corner of the tavern. He allowed himself another moment to let his eyes roam over the relaxed figure, who appeared so frequently in his dreams. Lithe bodied with golden skin, amber eyes, and startlingly white hair, Vachelleus stood out from any crowd without trying. Vachelleus had caught his eye whenever he’d seen them in town. He’d been delighted to find himself forced to sit in closer quarters than usual with the crowd the evening at Faiza’s they’d first spoken. A famous mendicant had been traveling through the area and had stopped for the night at the inn, graciously agreeing to tantalize the townsfolk at the tavern with some of his tales. The tavern had been packed to the rafters with people eager to hear his stories, and Gareth had been standing in the back of the tavern as per usual, having come in later than most, also as per usual. He’d found a space that happened to be next to Vachelleus, and he’d struck up a conversation which had delighted him far more than even the mendicant’s tales. After their first encounter, he’d made a point to start coming to Faiza’s any time he was in the village in hopes of running into Vachelleus, as they’d mentioned they dined there several nights a week.
He’d felt a subtle shift in their interactions weeks ago; he’d felt the heat of Vachelleus’ gaze increase and had allowed his own gaze to intensify to match theirs. He’d felt the tension between the two of them grow until it sparked and threatened to explode any time they were near one another, gods forbid they touched. He felt the deep, heavy ache between his thighs as his breeches struggled to accommodate the influx of blood to his cock every time he spent more than a few moments near Vachelleus. He was sure that they had felt a shift, too, but he couldn’t understand why whenever he’d opened the way for further exploration, Vachelleus stopped just this side of crossing the invisible line that would move their relationship from friends to something more intimate. He didn’t understand it, but he was determined that hopefully tonight he could get to the bottom of it. He’d enjoyed having a lover or two in the past, once he and Katriin had opened their marriage; hell, he’d enjoyed the few times he and Katriin had shared a bed. He had never wanted anyone the way he wanted Vachelleus though, and when he was being honest with himself, this somewhat terrified him. He not only wanted Vachelleus in his bed, he wanted their heart and he wanted their love. For the first time in his life, his heart and his body were both in agreement with what they wanted. They wanted Vachelleus; he wanted Vachelleus. He wanted Vachelleus in more ways than just friendship, but if they weren’t interested, he would learn to live with it, because life with Vachelleus in it was far preferable to life without them.
Almost as if they could feel his eyes on them, Vachelleus turned toward the door to the inn, saw the duke, and smiled. They gestured with a nod of their head at a second chair tucked between them and the wall, and Gareth’s smile widened; they’d procured a chair and had saved it for him, knowing he’d be there. He made his way over to the table and slid into the vacant chair, enjoying the warmth that was pooling low in his belly from the knowledge that Vachelleus had been looking forward to spending time with him that evening.
Faiza had seen him come in as well and sent a tankard of his favorite beer to the table along with another tankard of cider for Vachelleus. A bowl of stew and sizeable slices of the famed sourdough and the hard, sharp cheese rounded out the tray that was emptied onto their table by one of the servers, who smiled at them before disappearing back into the kitchen. Gareth smiled again at Vachelleus, “I was hoping you’d be here tonight.” He studied their features as Vachelleus returned his gaze and his smile; they looked tired, but just as beautiful as he always found them. He continued watching as Vachelleus’ smile widened, turning up at the corners and finally filling their eyes as they spoke, their tone full of amusement.
“Gareth, I can see you’re almost drooling into your stew. Eat first and we can visit afterward.”
Gareth grinned, then dug into his meal. He used the last of his bread crust to wipe up any remaining stew gravy he’d missed, then sat back with a contented sigh. Another server appeared almost as if by magic and whisked the dirty dishes off the table before depositing freshly filled mugs of beer and cider before the two. Gareth nodded his thanks as the server moved off. He scooted his chair around so that he was sitting beside Vachelleus instead of across from them, in hopes they’d be able to hear one another better. The tavern had grown even more crowded than it had been when he’d arrived, and subsequently noisier. He leaned in closer than he’d been before, then braced himself for the conversation he was going to instigate with Vachelleus about their relationship.
It didn’t matter that he was a fully grown man who’d trained with his father’s military, served his father’s kingdom as a knight in multiple battles, had been married and stood by his wife’s side as she birthed their children; talks about feelings and emotions still made him nervous. Katriin had taught him the importance of these talks, but he still didn’t enjoy them. He realized he’d been staring down at the table, fiddling with the handle of his beer mug for several minutes. He slid his gaze back up to meet Vachelleus’ own calm, steady gaze and he drew in a breath, preparing to speak. “Vachelleus, I—”
He got no further before he was interrupted by a sudden commotion and a woman’s indignant shout.
Gareth’s expression had become serious a moment before he’d moved his chair so that he was sitting beside them at the table. He sat wonderfully close, the heat of his body and the scent of his skin palpable to Vachelleus. They looked up into his face, searching for hints at what was troubling the duke. His eyes were staring down at the table, without really seeing it; his fingertips absently stroking the details along the handle of his mug. Vachelleus waited patiently; he obviously had something on his mind and would talk when he was ready. As Gareth’s gaze swung back up to theirs, the tavern, its lights, noises, and scents, all fell away from Vachelleus’ awareness. There was just Gareth and his deep, intense eyes, filled with determination and a hint of uncertainty. His attention focused solely on Vachelleus, and they felt the weight of his gaze, but also its warmth. Gareth prepared to speak, drew a breath, and got precisely two words out before being interrupted by a sudden commotion at a table not far from their own.
Reality snapped back into focus, and Vachelleus wasn’t surprised that the occupants of the table were the newcomers they and Faiza had been uneasy about earlier in the night. A woman’s shout of outrage, however, had Vachelleus and the duke up and out of their seats. The bard stopped his ballad mid-sentence, and every eye in the tavern turned toward the scuffle.
Vida, the server who’d worked for Faiza the longest, was struggling to extricate herself from the arms and lap of one of the men at the table. She managed to free an arm and then swung her fist at the man’s ear. He caught Vida’s arm again and laughed in her face as he foiled her attempt to hit him. While Gareth was stalking toward the man from the front, Vachelleus had slipped around behind him. Gareth was used to dealing with problems head-on, likely due to a combination of being male, being born into royalty, and being a sizeable person that most would hesitate to cross. As someone often mistaken as female, who was also likely going to be smaller and lighter than their opponents, Vachelleus had learned early in life that this approach rarely worked for them. They’d been taught by their also rather small, light, and very female grandmother how to deal with violence in ways that were more likely to work for them instead of against them. Their grandmother had taught them well, and was one of a few reasons that Vachelleus still resided in this particular realm of the living.
Vachelleus watched as the realization dawned on Vida’s attacker and his men that something wasn’t going well for them. Other tavern patrons were staring with open hostility and a large handful were closing in on the group. The man then appeared to realize, with what Vachelleus assumed, was an uncharacteristic flash of insight, that he’d possibly made a grievous error. They felt the surety of the fool’s understanding in the stiffness of his body as he became aware of the cool sharpness of a blade whispering across his throat, drawing a thin trickle of blood.
Vachelleus’ low, contralto voice was close to his ear as their hand wrapped itself in his greasy hair, and the threat solidified behind him. “Let her go, and I’ll not slit your throat further.”
The man made the first smart choice of his night and let Vida up without hesitation. Vachelleus didn’t move their knife immediately, letting Vida get some distance between herself and her assailant. As soon as Vachelleus did move their knife, however, the man moved faster than they’d expected, whirling and striking out at their face with his own knife. Vachelleus threw themself backward, landing on their back and rolling with the momentum so they came up crouched on the balls of their feet. They stood, knife still in hand, and took a step back to make sure of their balance. Vachelleus’ heel scraped the wall, and they swore softly; they’d expected to have a bit more room to maneuver, but it was too late now to correct their miscalculation. Their opponent drew an ugly blade that was either a very large knife or a rather short sword. Vachelleus grimaced; it didn’t really matter what the blade was classified as. What did matter was that it gave the man an even longer reach, and he was holding it with a competence that Vachelleus was not looking forward to testing. With a snarl, the man lunged forward, and Vachelleus’ full attention became focused on their efforts to not let themself be killed.
Gareth watched as Vida quickly extricated herself, and then as Vachelleus began to lower their blade, time seemed to slow. He saw the flash of a blade being whipped from inside a hidden sheath and tried to shout a warning to Vachelleus. He watched as Vachelleus darted backward, tumbled, and rolled to their feet in a crouch, then stand. He felt his own body moving forward as he saw Vachelleus without room to maneuver and saw the man draw his short sword. He realized belatedly his focus had been too much on Vachelleus. What he hadn’t seen was the man’s traveling companions surge up from their seats as soon as their leader had launched his attack at Vachelleus, and that many of the other patrons of Faiza’s tavern had joined in the fray as well.
Gareth ran toward Vachelleus, who was doing their level best to fend off the group’s leader. Vachelleus, however, was not a terribly experienced fighter and their opponent quite obviously was, giving him an even larger advantage over the scowling, white-haired apothecary. Gareth’s chest momentarily constricted at the thought he might not make it to Vachelleus in time to keep their attacker from striking a killing blow. He brushed these thoughts aside and continued toward his target.
A pain in Gareth’s arm made him whirl for the moment it took for him to hit the man in the face who’d cut him. He turned back, resuming his path. He felt a deeper slice of pain along his abdomen. Apparently he’d not hit the man as hard as required to make him go down and stay there. Gareth paused a moment longer than before and made sure the man stayed down this time. He whirled back toward Vachelleus, worried that it had taken him longer than it should have to deal with his own attacker. He frowned, realizing he was slower than he used to be. A familiar movement from Vachelleus’ opponent caught his eye, riveting his attention and filling him with disbelief. He watched in horror as the man’s movements began to flow near-seamlessly from one to the next, in a series that would end with a killing blow. Every soldier of a certain caliber in his father’s army was taught this series. This man, this soldier, could not be allowed to finish the pattern. If the man was allowed to finish, Vachelleus would be helpless to do anything but die. Gareth knew he had to get to them before that, had to stop— his train of thought was interrupted by the sight of Vachelleus unsheathing a tiny blade that must have been hanging on a cord about their neck, beneath their shirt. Gareth had seen blades like this before. They were usually carried as a last resort and were just as usually too ineffective at causing enough damage to be of any real use.
Vachelleus’ minuscule blade flashed out, cutting their opponent’s arm. Their attacker appeared to barely notice the cut, but a breath later he began to scream and then didn’t stop. His attack on Vachelleus ceased, and his only thought seemed to be to get his clothing away from his arm as fast as he could.
Gareth paused, startled into stillness. The other brawls about the tavern wrapped themselves up, the unknown men being subdued simply by being too outnumbered and in too tight of quarters to be able to fully utilize their obviously superior training or their longswords.
As the rest of the fighting resolved, it became apparent that the man’s screaming remained, unabated. His howls of agony filled the stunned silence of the tavern. He had continued to tear at his clothes until his tunic was nothing more than a mass of fabric shreds, one sleeve still hanging on by a few threads. He no longer stood upright but writhed on the floor at Vachelleus’ feet. Some of the villagers looked uneasily at one another, but none shied away from Vachelleus’ gaze, surprising them; they’d been run out of other places for far less than this.
A grizzled fisherman broke the silence with his strangely loud, yet wheezy laugh, startling almost everyone in the tavern. “My gran’daddy always used to say to me, ‘My boy, a good healer knows how to cure you. But a great healer knows how to cure you and how to kill you!’” He laughed again and shuffled over to where Vachelleus still stood, then wrapped them in a tight hug. “You, dearie, are a great healer! Our village has never been so lucky as the day you traveled on through, then decided to stay.” He smiled down at them, eyes twinkling. Turning his back to Vachelleus so he was facing the rest of the folks in the tavern, he made everyone jump again by bellowing, “Alright, everyone not hurt or keeping an eye on these fools, get yer asses to work cleaning up Faiza’s pride and joy!”
Vachelleus was no longer in immediate danger, and Gareth took a moment to survey the room and his people. He was surprised and grateful to see that there were no obviously dead bodies anywhere. The injured were sitting or standing off to one side of the room, and several of Faiza’s staff had grabbed bandages from the supply trunk in the kitchen and were tending to their various scratches and scrapes. A few villagers with more serious injuries that would need Vachelleus to care for them, were seated at a table with mugs of beer, a couple of whom were holding folded lengths of cloth tightly against their wounds so they wouldn’t bleed on Faiza’s furniture.
The rest of the townsfolk had followed the old fisherman’s command and were cleaning and tidying. A third group of villagers stood guard over the disarmed and tightly bound group responsible for the night’s excessive excitement. Gareth let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, now sure that his people were safe. He turned and resumed his incredibly interrupted path back toward Vachelleus. Vida now stood beside them, and the man still screamed at their feet. He watched, trying to make out what exactly Vachelleus was doing, crouched beside the man. He almost tripped on thin air when he realized they were crouched beside the man, making additional cuts into his flesh with their tiny knife.
Vachelleus finished making the few extra cuts they’d decided to gift the screamer with as Vida came to stand beside them. Vachelleus grabbed the barely attached sleeve from the man’s tunic and pulled it the rest of the way off, then stood and cleaned their unassuming blade before sheathing it. Vida took a step closer, standing with her shoulder pressed to Vachelleus’, as the two stared dispassionately down at the despised man.
Vida tilted her head to one side, a look of curiosity on her face. “What’s so special about that wee knife of yours, Vachelleus? I can’t figure out what this ass can possibly still be screaming about. The cuts are fairly shallow and while any cut is painful, the ones you gave him shouldn’t be that painful.”
Vachelleus explained to their friend what exactly made the cuts from this knife so special as they watched Gareth finish closing the distance between them. He arrived in time to catch the last bit of their explanation, “… powder from a flowering vine that grows a few days’ ride from where I grew up. Some parts of the plant are used to heal. One part, to kill. We ate the candied flowers as a treat. When part is specially dried and powdered, then introduced through a cut in the skin, you feel like you’re dying. Or perhaps like your skin is being peeled off from the inside. I gifted him the extra cuts as his repayment for grabbing you.”
Vida was staring at Vachelleus with a mix of horror and delight on her face, then impulsively hugged them. “You are the best person in all the world right now.” She pulled back from the hug grinning, and they returned her smile. “I’m relieved you think so.”
Vida paled a bit, “Oh no… I don’t think Faiza knows about this yet. She went to get more beer out of the cellar right before he grabbed me…” She looked around the room at the damage, pursed her lips, then smiled an evil smile, “Sure glad I’m not one of them, now, aren’t I? Faiza’s going to be so pissed. She might ask if she can borrow your wee knife there with some of your screaming powder before she cuts his hand off.”
A thoughtful look passed across Vida’s face then, and she spoke a moment later, “If she decides the screamer still gets to have his hand cut off, I wonder if she’ll let me do it? Or maybe she’ll let me keep the hand…” Vida stopped speaking mid-sentence, realizing that Duke Gareth had been standing next to the two for an unknown amount of time now, and that his eyebrows were raised quite high. Vachelleus rolled their eyes at the duke’s theatrics, but didn’t interrupt.
“Oh! Your Grace! I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you come over. We were just—”
“You’re just as bloodthirsty as Faiza; no wonder she likes you so well.” The duke smiled as he said this, making Vida blush. She stammered something about going to find Faiza, then scampered off back toward the kitchen and the door to the beer cellar therein.
Vachelleus knelt back down beside the man whose screams had still not lessened, but were growing more ragged the longer he continued. They wadded up the sleeve previously removed from his tunic to clean their knife on, then shoved it into his gaping mouth. His screams were still audible, but the garment did muffle them enough so that the Duke’s Guard seemed almost loud as they clattered through the tavern’s door a moment later.
The men responsible for the brawl and the damage were carted off to the jail. The Captain of the Guard explained that someone had gone to fetch them once the fighting started, and he was apologetic that they’d taken so long to arrive. Gareth accepted the apology with a nod, explained why the group’s leader was still screaming, then sent the captain to catch up with the rest of his men.
Gareth noticed the sensation of wetness on his shirt and pressed a hand to his belly. He swore softly as his hand came back wet with bright blood. Katriin was going to be pissed that he’d gotten hurt enough to bleed like this. He pressed his opposite hand to the wound, then crossed the other arm over the top of it to keep it from being quite so obvious what he was doing. He’d never been so grateful to be wearing black as he was at this moment. Turning back into the tavern, he could hear Faiza’s voice cracking like a whip, “I leave for 15 minutes to get another barrel of beer or two from the cellar and this happens…” she trailed off, not really yelling at anyone in particular, more irate than she’d otherwise have been had the instigators been available for her to turn her wrath upon.
Vachelleus and Vida had joined the others caring for the wounded. Vachelleus was seated at a table with their healing kit beside them, stitching up the arm of another local fisherman, forbidding him from doing anything but mend nets for the next two weeks if he didn’t want his stitches ripped out by doing something stupid. He was old enough to be their father, or grandfather perhaps, but took their recommendations with a smile and the promise that he’d pop by their Apothecary in a few days with a fish or two that his son would catch for them. He squeezed their hand in thanks once they finished stitching his arm, then he resumed helping the others clean up, making sure to only use his uninjured side.
Gareth huffed another sigh of relief; that was the last of the more seriously injured villagers, and it looked like everyone would make it out of this alive. He picked up a broom and began to sweep a corner of the tavern where he hoped no one would notice him sweeping one-handed. Naturally, someone did notice, and that someone happened to be Faiza. To his deep chagrin, Faiza did not notice that he was using the broom ineffectively, but rather that he was bleeding—onto her floor.
“Vachelleus!” Faiza’s voice rose like a clarion above the sounds of tidying in the tavern. Gareth swallowed hard, regretting his choice to not tell Vachelleus that he was indeed injured, but not badly; or at least, not that badly. Faiza was pissed he’d bled on her floor. Vachelleus was going to be pissed he hadn’t told them he was hurt. Katriin was going to be pissed that he got hurt to begin with, and then still didn’t tell anyone once he’d realized it. He was in trouble on all sides. Gods forbid these three ever became friends; he wouldn’t survive them.
“Vachelleus!”
Vachelleus’ head snapped up, looking around the room for their indignant-sounding best friend. They found her standing next to a sheepish-looking Duke Gareth. Faiza scowled up at the duke, one hand on her hip and the other wagging a finger toward his somewhat-contrite face. Faiza finished her reprimand before whirling and stomping away from the duke and toward Vachelleus, muttering to herself about foolish men.
“Vachelleus, you take this man out of my tavern and patch him up! He’s trying to sweep the floor but keeps bleeding all over it! Why haven’t you stitched him yet?”
The duke, looking appropriately contrite for daring to bleed all over Faiza’s floor, looked to Vachelleus for help, but only saw a momentarily incredulous look, quickly replaced with exasperation.
Vida leaned over and whispered something to Vachelleus, who rolled their eyes and shook their head. Vida gave a laugh, then helped the blushing Vachelleus finish packing up their healer’s kit. As they stood and walked toward Gareth, Vida said a loud, “Good luck!”
Vachelleus shot a death glare at Faiza and the duke. “You!” they said, pointing a finger at Faiza, “Have a big mouth. And as for you,” they stabbed a finger in Gareth’s direction, “You get on upstairs to your room and I will take care of you there.”
Vachelleus glared at him until he was out of sight, then followed a few moments later, having stopped to collect more bandaging supplies and to scowl at Faiza again as they passed their friend.
Faiza rested her hand on Vachelleus’ arm, staying them a moment.
“I did tell you to take the man and have some alone time together with his fabled royal rod, but you didn’t have to instigate a bar fight to do it, you know…” Faiza finished with a wicked twinkle in her eye, which made her best friend sigh and rub at their temples in semi-mock distress.
“Faiza, I just… I don’t know what to do with the lot of you sometimes. So, I’m going to go upstairs and stitch his royal highness of idiocy closed. While I’m sewing, he’ll get to hear about all the fun ways to die when one loses too much blood or gets a nasty infection. And then I’m going home and going to bed. Alone. Sometimes that man makes me miss the bandits on the caravan route I traveled to get here. At least they made sense.”
Still shaking their head in exasperation, they ascended the few stairs from the tavern to the inn, followed by Faiza’s laughter.
The duke usually got a room for the night at the inn on the days he made his rounds in town, today being no exception. Vachelleus stopped by the small check-in area and asked Cadmus which room Duke Gareth was in.
Cadmus frowned, taking in the small, tired, somewhat rumpled healer standing before him. “He’s in his usual room at the end of the upstairs hall. I’m sorry I didn’t make it back to help sooner, but I was helping Faiza with the beer kegs.” In spite of himself, he grinned for a moment, “She might be as strong as I am, but she’s still too short to reach the top shelves.” His face sobered beneath his bushy beard as his gaze landed on the basket of wound care supplies and the medical kit Vachelleus held in their hands. “He was walking well enough a few moments ago; is he that badly injured?”
Vachelleus shook their head, “No, I don’t think so. I won’t be certain about his injuries, though, until I can actually see them.” They scowled again, “The idiot didn’t tell anyone he was hurt, so it took him bleeding all over Faiza’s floor before we knew.”
Cadmus’ eyebrows rose, as though two large caterpillars were racing up his forehead. “He bled all over her floor? He’s in for it, once he’s healed, royalty or no…” Cadmus grinned again, and Vachelleus couldn’t help but match it with their own tired grin. “I’ll get him patched up and turn him over to Faiza. No one was seriously injured, and the townsfolk are helping tidy up.” Vachelleus’ face turned grave, “We were very lucky though, Cadmus; it could easily have been far worse. Those men were well armed and trained. Had they had room to maneuver, people would have died.”
Cadmus’ face had also grown serious. He nodded, “I’ll keep an ear and an eye out for any information that might be useful to the Duke and Duchess about this. You get upstairs and patch up the duke, and then get some rest yourself.”
Vachelleus gave a half-smile and nodded, then continued up the stairs toward Gareth’s room.
They knocked on the door at the end of the hall and then entered after hearing the muffled, “Come in!” from the other side. The room was simple and tidy. There was a bed, a small table with two matching chairs, a water pitcher and basin atop a chest with three drawers, and a bathing tub that was already filled with steaming water. Gareth was sitting on the side of the bed, holding pressure on his arm and his belly.
Once the door was closed and locked, Vachelleus turned toward the duke, “Alright, your Grace, where are your injuries?”
Gareth quirked an eyebrow at their formal address, but removed his hand from his bicep, while continuing to hold pressure on his abdominal wound. “The incompetent with the dagger nicked my upper arm and then got a slightly better cut on my belly. They’re really not that big of a deal.”
Vachelleus shook their head, “You, sir, are lucky that they weren’t more competent with their knife. You’re unlucky, however, that they were competent enough with it that they cut you not once, but twice, and at least one of those cuts is likely going to need to be stitched closed. Alright, shirt off so I can see what I’m dealing with.”
Gareth obediently stripped off his shirt, thinking about the other reasons he’d much rather be removing his clothes for Vachelleus. For the briefest of moments, he glimpsed the look on Vachelleus’ face upon seeing his naked torso, before they smoothed their features back into the neutral face all healers seemed to have. That one brief glimpse was enough though; Gareth knew without a doubt now that Vachelleus wanted him just as badly as he wanted them.
Gareth sat back down on the bed’s edge, legs slightly spread, one hand still pressed to his abdomen.
“Keep pressure on your belly,” Vachelleus directed, “I’m going to clean and bandage your arm first. Unless it’s worse than it looks, it’s a very superficial wound and will be quick to tend to. I have a feeling your belly will take a bit longer.”
Gareth nodded and did as he was told while Vachelleus quickly and expertly cleaned and bandaged the wound on his arm.
They knelt on the floor beside him once the arm was tended to so that they could get a better look at his belly wound.
“Alright, Gareth, move your hand away, please.”
Gareth again did as Vachelleus asked, moving his hand to reveal a deeper wound, although not as deep as Vachelleus had feared based on the amount it had bled. They cleaned the wound, then held pressure again with a clean cloth to staunch the fresh flow of blood brought on by the cleaning.
When the flow had slowed once more, Vachelleus handed Gareth a small bottle from their medical kit. “Drink this and then I’ll stitch you up in about five minutes. It won’t dull the pain exactly, but it will help you not mind it so much.”
“What is it?”
“It’s a tonic that my great-grandfather was shown how to make, by a bandit king he once helped.”
When he realized that they weren’t going to continue, he clarified, “I mean, what is it made from?”
“Oh. It’s made from the same plant that’s used to make the ‘screaming powder’, as you so aptly named it, but from a different part of the plant.”
When he eyed the drink dubiously, Vachelleus sighed, then explained further, “Like I told Vida, the plant has many uses. One part heals, one part kills, another is a tasty treat. There is a certain way to prepare the roots of the plant so that they won’t kill you, but they’ll cause enough pain to make you wish you were dead. This drink is made from the leaves and stems—the healing parts. The flowers are the tasty treat, but also have some healing properties. Now, drink it or don’t, but you really ought to let me stitch you up in the near future unless you enjoy losing your blood.”
Their expression remained impassive as their gaze locked with Gareth’s; he nodded and broke eye contact, choosing to reach for the small bottle. He braced himself as he took the first mouthful, then was pleasantly surprised to find the taste of the tonic to be light and almost sweet. He finished the liquid in the bottle, then handed it back to Vachelleus who stowed it carefully back in their kit.
Vachelleus took the next few minutes to drag the room’s small table over to the bedside and then proceeded to lay out their tools: clean fabric squares, a small, curved needle, and thread spun so finely that Gareth could hardly see it.
“Where on earth did you find someone who can spin fiber so fine as that?”
Vachelleus gave him a wry smile, then answered, “The House of Weavers are expert spinners, Gareth. No one spins more beautifully or delicately than they do.”
Gareth gaped at Vachelleus; the members of the House of Weavers were what parents used to terrify their unruly children into staying in bed with. The House of Weavers was located somewhere in the center of the vast Wood, and no one, no one, sought them out on purpose. Or so he’d thought.
“It’s a story for another time, Gareth. I need to focus on getting you stitched. Now, please hold as still as you can.”
Vachelleus knelt beside the half-naked man, trying to ignore the way his muscles rippled beneath his skin with each movement he made, or the way his body’s scent tightened things low in their own body, making them feel the need to squeeze their knees tighter together. After trying to situate themselves on either side of Gareth to best reach his wound, they realized with some trepidation that there was no way they’d be able to adequately stitch the wound while seated beside him. They would need to be directly in front of Gareth. In order to reach the wound, they’d need to be kneeling directly between his thick, superbly muscled thighs.
Vachelleus suppressed a shudder of pleasure that rippled through them. There was at least one other thing they’d much rather be focusing their attentions on if they were going to be kneeling between Gareth’s thighs. Shoving aside all fantasies of taking Gareth’s cock into their mouth while kneeling before him, Vachelleus focused on the task at hand. After all, Gareth’s cock would never be able to get hard if he kept losing blood at the rate he was.
No. No, no, no… stitching up the wound; that’s what they were focusing on. Yes. Stitches. Thread the needle, check the patient. Had the brew begun to take effect yet? Yes, yes it had.
Vachelleus gently probed the edges of the wound with a clean finger, noting that Gareth didn’t wince or pull away.
“I’m going to stitch you closed now. Hold still, please.”
Gareth gave an almost imperceptible nod, then did as he was told and held still. He tried very hard not to think about all the other things he’d rather have Vachelleus doing with their hands, or better yet, their mouth, while on their knees between his legs. He’d apparently not lost enough blood to prevent his cock from growing heavy with it, lengthening and hardening in his breeches, giving away his arousal at having Vachelleus kneeling between his thighs.
Every touch from Vachelleus’ firm yet gentle hands further aroused Gareth, making him harder. Every prick of their needle, every stitch’s pain, mixed with the pleasure of having their hands on his naked flesh.
He thought about how much better it was to get stitched up from someone you’d repeatedly dreamt of fucking than your commanding officer, on the battlefield. He continued to watch Vachelleus as they worked, careful stitch after careful stitch, and noted that their nipples were hard as diamonds, pressing firmly against the fabric of their shirt. He noticed that they were drawing slow, deep, measured breaths. Their chest and cheeks were deliciously flushed, and they seemed to be trying their damnedest not to stare at the ever-hardening cock that was level with their beautiful face.
Vachelleus carefully tied the last knot of the last stitch before snipping the extra thread length. Their breath hitched as they tried to inhale, the room feeling suddenly smaller and like there might not have been quite enough oxygen in it. They desperately tried to look away from the large bulge in the crux of Gareth’s thighs, but failed yet again. The tip of their tongue flashed out, wetting their dry lips.
“Vachelleus.”
The owner of said name struggled to make their brain obey and look up into Gareth’s face instead of at the bulge in his pants.
“Vachelleus,” their name came again from the lips and tongue of the duke, this time accompanied by his hand on their chin, gently tilting their face up toward his own. “Do you want this? Do you want me?”
The question came out low and husky, Gareth’s need and desire obvious to them both. Vachelleus nodded, then licked their lips again while trying to convince their voice to work.
“Yes,” they finally managed, “Yes, Gareth, please…”
The one word of consent was all Gareth needed to allow himself to pull Vachelleus to their feet and then slam his mouth to theirs. Their arms slid around his neck, fingers tangling in his hair, as he lifted their lithe frame from the floor and then sat back on the bed, Vachelleus’ thighs straddling his own.
Their kiss slowed then, each taking time to enjoy the other’s mouth, lips, and tongue. He felt Vachelleus’ fingers free themselves from his hair. They pulled the hem of their shirt from their breeches before unbuttoning it and allowing Gareth to slide it from their shoulders.
Gareth was delighted to find that Vachelleus wore no undergarments beneath their shirt, leaving their small breasts free for his hands to explore. His hands skimmed their skin, fingertips trailing lines of heat along their waist, ribs, back, and breasts. Gareth paused then, and cupped each of Vachelleus’ breasts in his much larger hands while he allowed himself time to trace their nipples with his thumbs. A small groan escaped Vachelleus, which turned to a sharp gasp as Gareth pinched each nipple between thumb and forefinger.
Vachelleus’ back arched, pressing their breasts more firmly into Gareth’s hands, and he paused his assault on their nipples to enjoy the feeling of his hands on their body. He kissed them again, trailing his hands down their skin to their waist and then hips, still encased in their breeches.
“We’re still in far too many clothes. Stand up so I can fix this little problem.”
Vachelleus did as they were bid, Gareth following suit. He removed his own breeches quickly before turning to Vachelleus and watching as they finished removing their own.
Gareth hadn’t thought it possible for his cock to get any harder, but it did as he saw the look on Vachelleus’ face when they finally saw him completely naked. They stood with lips slightly parted, pupils dilated with arousal. A delicate flush still covered their chest and cheeks, and as they raised their gaze to meet Gareth’s, a teasing smile tugged at their lips.
“You’re quite the delicious sight, your Grace. We’ll need to be careful that we don’t tear your stitches.”
Gareth returned the smile, but his was filled with heat, desire, and longing.
“We’ll be careful enough.”
Vachelleus closed the few feet of space between themself and Gareth, then gently but firmly placed their palms on his chest. They paused for a moment to enjoy the feeling of his body beneath their hands, then slid their palms up his chest and neck to cup his face. They drew him down for another kiss, then murmured in his ear, “Sit back on the bed.”
Gareth sat down again, but slowly, taking his time to kiss and lick his way down Vachelleus’ body. When he got to the softness at the juncture of their thighs, he lingered a moment, kissing their glossy white curls and breathing in their intoxicating scent. Finally, he sat back as instructed.
Sitting as he had before, legs apart but now his full body on display without any clothing obstructing their view, Vachelleus once again knelt between his thighs. This time, though, there were no wounds in need of stitching. No, this time, they could give all their attention to Gareth’s body in the way they’d been doing for months in their dreams.
Vachelleus reached out a hand and wrapped their fingers around Gareth’s shaft, eliciting a soft groan. His cock was thick and hard, a tiny drop of precum glistening at the tip. They uncorked a small bottle of oil they’d taken from their medical kit and poured a measure into their palm before replacing their fingers around Gareth’s shaft. Vachelleus incrementally increased the pressure of their grip and then licked the pearly drop from his slit, savoring the slightly salty taste. Another groan from Gareth had them eager to taste more of the man they’d lusted after for so long. Dipping their head, they took him into their mouth, sliding his cock along their tongue as far as was comfortable before pulling back, lips curled over teeth and cheeks hollowing as they sucked him.
Vachelleus repeated the movement several more times, their hand finding a steady rhythm with their mouth, until Gareth’s muscles were taut. His hands gripped the side of the mattress and he had to keep trying to remember how to breathe.
Gareth almost came when Vachelleus moved their hand as they slid their mouth back down his shaft, taking all of him into their mouth and throat. He felt their throat muscles contract and then expand to try and accommodate his size and he wound his hand into Vachelleus’ gleaming white hair, taking control.
He fought the urge to shove himself back into their throat, deeper even than they’d just taken him, but there was more of Vachelleus he wanted to explore, other places he’d rather come tonight. If he was lucky, there would be more nights they would spend together, more nights for him to give them as many orgasms as they could take, then he would come in their throat or pussy or ass. But if tonight was his only night with them, then he didn’t want to come so soon or come before he’d made their toes curl with pleasure and ripped at least a few screams of ecstasy from their gorgeous throat.
Pulling Vachelleus’ mouth from his cock resulted in an audible pop, making them both laugh for a moment. Then Gareth had Vachelleus pulled upright and into his arms, with a startled gasp from Vachelleus as their feet suddenly left the floor. Gareth had planned to pull his lover up and then onto the bed, but he found himself turning instead toward the wall, his hands grasping the soft space where their thighs met their buttocks, spreading them wide and pressing their hot core against his low belly. He pressed their back to the wall, their legs still twined about his hips, as he moved one hand to grasp his cock and line himself up with their slick wetness.
He paused then, thinking he should have done more to prepare Vachelleus to take him, when he heard their low growl, “For the gods’ sake, Gareth, fuck me!”
Gareth didn’t have to be told twice. Nestling the fat, flared head of his cock against their slick folds, he pushed and then stopped with just the head of his cock inside them to give them time to adjust to his size.
“Gareth, I told you to fuck me, do not make me tell you again.”
Gareth did as he was told and as he so desperately wanted to, and slammed the rest of his length up into them. Their legs tightened about his waist, their back arching away from the wall, pressing their breasts against his chest.
“Gods, yes,” uttered from Vachelleus’ lips was all Gareth needed to continue fucking them as hard and deep, though he did try to slow his pace. He captured one of their hard nipples in his mouth, licking, biting, then sucking. He bit Vachelleus a bit harder than he’d intended, and a cry ripped its way from Vachelleus’ throat, coupled with their back arching once again and their heels digging into his back. He felt their inner muscles begin to contract in waves, and he knew they were close. He redoubled his efforts, fucking them hard and fast, until with a scream and a gush of wetness over his cock, Vachelleus came hard for him. He slowed his pace, almost halting his movements in and out of them entirely. They shuddered in his arms and then looked up into his face, confusion in their eyes.
“Gareth, you didn’t come… why did you stop?”
He kissed them again, then with lips pressed to their ear, murmured, “You, my dear, are going to come many more times than I will tonight. This was just your first orgasm; I will come when I’m good and ready.”
He licked the shell of their ear, tracing the delicate line downward before capturing their earlobe between his teeth. Vachelleus’ eyelids fluttered closed, and they groaned again as he used his talented mouth to make their nipples hard and their pussy wet all over again.
“Mmmmm… I could spend all night just tasting you, seeing what I could do to you with just my mouth and tongue.”
A deliciously evil smile appeared on his lips, and he abruptly pulled Vachelleus away from the wall as he swung their bodies back toward the bed.
Vachelleus’ eyes flew open as they felt the movement and felt Gareth’s cock pull out of their body, leaving them feeling cold and empty. “Gareth, what…”
Their protest was abruptly cut off as Gareth’s momentum saw them flop onto the bed and Gareth scoot down quickly, so that his face was level with the juncture of their thighs before the rest of their protest could leave their lips.
Gareth grasped their hips, pulling them to him and eagerly buried his face in their soft curls. His tongue parted the lips of Vachelleus’ pussy, and he licked a broad stroke from the base of their cunt to their clitoris.
Alternating soft and firm strokes of his tongue, he licked and sucked and gently bit Vachelleus’ most sensitive parts. He discovered that they liked it best when he traced circles with his tongue around their clitoris and then sealed his lips around them and sucked firmly. He alternated this maneuver with his own favorite of plunging his tongue as deep inside of them as he could, and had them coming with their second orgasm of the night in a shorter time than he’d anticipated. He smiled to himself; this meant he’d have more time to give more orgasms before he finally allowed himself to come inside the exquisiteness that was Vachelleus.
Gareth waited until Vachelleus had unclamped their thighs from around his head before he once again rested his mouth against their soft, silky heat. Placing a gentle kiss against them before moving up the bed so they lay next to one another, he went to wipe the slickness of their pleasure from his lips, but Vachelleus grabbed him and pulled him in for a kiss, aroused all over again at tasting themself on his lips and tongue.
The two spent some time unhurriedly exploring each other’s bodies, kissing and trailing light touches intermingled with more firm ones, highlighted with the occasional pinch of a nipple. Gareth found his way back to Vachelleus’ pussy, still hot and wet and more inviting that he’d known was possible. He held his first and second finger before Vachelleus’ mouth, and they obediently opened and took his fingers in, swirling their tongue around the digits, coating them in their saliva.
Gareth withdrew his finger from their mouth, trailing just the tips down their body until he came back to their pussy, where he slid his fingers into their slick heat. Vachelleus gasped again, and then once more when Gareth added a third finger, then spread his fingers wide, opening them wider than they’d expected, the sensation more intense and better than they’d known before.
Vachelleus was having a hard time keeping their eyes open and on Gareth, although they wanted nothing more than to stare at the man giving them such unfathomable pleasure. Before their eyelids fluttered closed again, they caught the satisfied smile on Gareth’s lips; and then he curled his fingers inside of them and used his other thumb and forefinger to pinch their clitoris, and they were coming again, screaming again. Gareth’s mouth pressed to theirs, drinking down their screams of pleasure, and he felt their body quivering with the aftershocks of their intense and unexpected orgasm. He continued to gently kiss Vachelleus, letting them drift back down from the elevated place of pleasure they’d been.
“Gareth, you’ve made me come several times now, but not allowed yourself the same pleasure; what are you waiting for?”
Gareth smiled a feral smile, which was almost closer to a baring of teeth. “I wanted to give you enough pleasure that you’d consider having me in your bed again.”
Vachelleus’ eyebrows raised, “Are you serious? You’re such a male…” they rolled their eyes at him and huffed a laugh. “I’d never have come to your bed to begin with if I’d not wanted you to come back to my own. Now unless you’re content with pleasuring me only, I do believe I told you to fuck me. And I meant with your cock, and with you finishing yourself at the end, preferably somewhere inside of me. I want your cum, Gareth, wherever you decide to put it.”
Gareth didn’t need to be told twice. He flipped Vachelleus onto their belly, spreading their luscious buttocks to reveal their tight asshole. This was where Gareth wanted to come tonight—deep in Vachelleus’ tightest of holes.
“Mmmmm… yes. Fuck me there, Gareth. I want to feel your cum fill my ass.”
Gareth bent at his waist, shoving his tongue into Vachelleus, licking and sucking. Their cries of pleasure drove him on, heedless of any who might hear them.
He found the bottle of oil they’d used to enhance his pleasure earlier in the night, glad it had been left near the bed. He poured a measure into his hands, making sure to coat his fingers thoroughly. He grasped Vachelleus by their hips, pulling their hips and ass into a higher angle while allowing their breasts and face to remain pressed to the bed. He trickled another measure of oil between their firm ass cheeks, making sure to rub the excess in a circular motion around their deliciously tight asshole.
He placed an oil-slicked fingertip against their hole and pressed with firm, gentle pressure against the resistance their body tried to keep him out with. Vachelleus exhaled and relaxed, allowing Gareth’s finger to slide into them up to his second knuckle. He waited a moment to make sure their body had time to adjust to the stretch, then he began to slowly move his finger in and out of their ass. When Vachelleus began to move their hips, he placed his other hand on their hip, stilling the movements, then pressed a second finger into them.
“Mmmmm… yes…” the words were murmured low enough that Gareth couldn’t tell if they were meant for him to hear or not, but he took the feedback and kept going, fucking and stretching them enough so that when he buried his cock in their ass it would be pleasurable with an edge of pain, and not just pain.
A few moments more and he could feel their body ready for his cock. He stilled his movements, keeping his fingers inside Vachelleus, and then trickled more oil onto his now almost painfully hard cock. He rubbed the oil on himself, making sure he was well coated, then he slowly pulled his fingers from inside Vachelleus and placed the head of his cock against their now vacant hole.
He paused a moment, enjoying the sight before him, then pressed just hard enough for his cock to push past their still-tight ring of muscle, and then it was as if he forgot how to breathe. The feeling of being surrounded by their heat and tightness was enough to make his eyes roll back. He hadn’t felt anything this good in possibly… ever. Vachelleus once again moved their hips, encouraging him to finish his stilled movement and fully seat himself inside them. Gareth obliged, using every ounce of restraint he had not to just slam himself into their ass and take his pleasure. Once he was fully inside Vachelleus, he took a few deep breaths, willing himself not to come; he wanted to fuck them, pleasure them, and then come when he was good and ready.
Vachelleus, however, had grown impatient with Gareth’s overabundance of caution. Moving their hips and body forward, they pulled themself off his cock until just the fat, flared head was still inside them, then slammed their hips back. A cry of pleasure, tinged with the just the right amount of pain, escaped Vachelleus and they repeated the movement again, eliciting another cry from themself and a groan from Gareth, who finally stopped trying to be so damned careful and allowed himself to fuck the gorgeous being before him the way he, and obviously they, wanted to be fucked.
He slammed himself back into Vachelleus, as deep as he could go. Their back arched, head and shoulders angling upward, as a cry of pleasure flew from their lips. He pulled out again, slammed himself home again, and then he reached down and pulled Vachelleus upright so that their back was flush against his chest. Banding one arm around their chest just below their breasts, the other across their belly, he continued to fuck them hard, fast, and rough. Vachelleus’ moans and gasps increased in volume, their breaths coming faster and faster, and Gareth knew they were getting close. He was also getting close, but desperately wanted to give his lover one more mind-blowing orgasm before he would allow himself the same pleasure. He held them tighter to his chest with one arm while sliding his other hand down their body to their pussy. He cupped his hand around their heat, then slid his fingers upward through their curls until he brushed their clitoris. His voice was hoarse as the last threads of his control unraveled and he whispered into Vachelleus’ ear, “Scream for me.”
Using his thumb and forefinger, he pinched their clit while simultaneously sinking his teeth into the delectable spot where neck and shoulder met. Vachelleus came, screaming, body once again arching backward in ecstasy. Gareth thrust twice more as deep as he could, then he too was falling over the edge into bliss. His balls tightened to his body, muscles contracting, and with a shout he was filling Vachelleus’ sweet ass with his cum.
The two collapsed next to one another on the bed, exhaustion and elation mixing together; exhaustion won out and they dozed until the duke’s softening cock slipping from Vachelleus’ ass woke them both.
Gareth forced himself out of bed and over to the large bathtub of water in one corner of the room. He checked the temperature was still warm enough, and was satisfied that the be-spelled bathwater was indeed still nice and warm. He walked back over to the bed, gently scooped the once again dozing Vachelleus into his arms, then crossed the room and stepped into the tub of deliciously warm water. He carefully lowered the both of them into the water, then just as carefully washed his lover’s body and then his own.
Vachelleus woke enough to order Gareth out of the water above his waist, informing him he wasn’t allowed to fully soak until his wounds were healed if he didn’t want to risk getting a nasty infection. He eyed them dubiously but didn’t argue. He accepted the offer Vachelleus made to scrub his back for him, and then the two dried off and crawled back into the bed. Gareth slid between the sheets behind Vachelleus, wrapping his arms around them and burying his face in their silky, white hair. He was struck by just how right it felt to have Vachelleus in his arms, and for the first time in a great while he allowed the spark of hope that he’d someday find the kind of love, partnership, and companionship that Katriin had found with her lovers, to flare brighter and grow just a bit. The warmth of this hope filled him, and he fell back asleep more quickly than he had in ages.
Vachelleus snuggled deeper into Gareth’s arms, and fell into the deep and dreamless sleep of one who has been well and thoroughly fucked. As they drifted off, however, a smile curved their lips as they allowed themself to hope that sleeping in Gareth’s arms might be something that happened more often in the future. It felt right and oh-so-good to be with this man, to be held by him, to laugh with him, to fuck him and be fucked by him. Vachelleus breathed a contented sigh; only time would tell what their relationship would become, but they would enjoy each moment they had with Gareth.
The duke woke the following morning later than he usually did and found Vachelleus already up and dressed, seated next to the window sipping their morning coffee. Another cup of steaming coffee sat across from them on the table and Gareth’s eyes lit upon it.
“Is that for me?”
Vachelleus smiled and nodded, then pointed to the open med kit and suturing supplies laid out on the wide windowsill.
“That’s for you as well, but I’ll let you drink your coffee first. There’s also more in the carafe; you’re only two cups behind me.” They smirked at him, “I told you we needed to be careful, or you’d tear your stitches.”
Gareth looked down, noticing a fresh bandage covering his abdominal wound, with the smallest amount of bright red blood just starting to seep through the whiteness of the bandage.
“I put a new, temporary covering on it this morning while you were still sleeping. Faiza is really going to have it out for you now; you not only bled all over her floor, you also bled on her inn’s sheets.”
Gareth groaned in dismay while Vachelleus smothered a laugh, then he sighed and joined them at the table for coffee. As soon as his first cup was finished, Vachelleus once again knelt between his thighs and once again stitched his wound closed with small, precise stitches.
“There,” they announced after the final stitch was knotted and thread trimmed, “All done.” They raised their face to Gareth’s, their breath hitching in their throat as their gazes locked.
He reached down and gently tugged Vachelleus to a standing position, his knees still bracketing their thighs as he remained seated, their hands still in his much larger ones.
“Vachelleus, you don’t need to answer now if you need or want time to consider, but I do need to know: Is last night what you wanted from me, or do you want more and to see where we might go together?”
Vachelleus caught the flicker of vulnerability that flashed across Gareth’s face before he was able to smooth it away, and they disentangled their hands from his and walked back around the table to their coffee cup. They refilled it and sipped the dark, bitter brew while they contemplated his question. He’d been brave enough to ask it, and they would be brave enough to answer him honestly.
Did they want more than just an epic one-night stand with Gareth? Yes, a hundred times over, yes. Would an ongoing relationship with Gareth, Duke of Frisii’s Harbor and Prince of Genidia, be potentially very complicated, as he was married with three children, whose wife also had lovers of her own? Oh yes, it would quite likely be very complicated at times, but not likely most of the time. Were the complexities of navigating the potential intricacies that might arise from having a relationship with Gareth worth having said relationship? Vachelleus knew not only in their heart, but also in their gut that the answer to this was an unequivocal yes—and they always trusted their gut.
Their answer decided, they set their coffee cup back down on the table and walked back over to Gareth, once again standing with their legs between his knees. They cupped his face in their palms, tilting his gaze up to meet their own, letting all of their feelings shine through in their eyes as they answered his question.
“Gareth, I want as many days and nights with you as the gods may grant us. You feel so good to me, and you make me feel so good. I have known you for a while now, and I want you.” They gave a little shrug and a small laugh, “I’ve wanted you for a long time.”
Gareth’s smile lit his face and he stood, pulling Vachelleus into his arms, tilting their face up to his for a long, slow, deep kiss. “I’ve wanted you at least as long, and now we have one another, for as long as we both wish it.”
He kissed them again, thinking of the kisses, touches, laughs, and hopefully love they would share in their now-combined futures.
Vachelleus deepened the kiss, sliding their tongue against the seam of his lips and smiling when he opened his mouth to give them access, with a soft, surprised chuckle. They thought about the events that had brought the two of them to this point, and about Faiza’s constant attempts to convince them to seduce Gareth. They thought about a future filled with the possibilities of laughter and love, with Gareth and with whatever else or whomever else that might entail.
They stopped thinking, then, and just let themself feel Gareth’s body beneath their hands, feel his lips and tongue on their own, feel his teeth gently grazing their lower lip as they continued their kiss; and for the first time in a very long time, they realized that here in Gareth’s arms, they finally felt home.
-ish…
… which means this is really just the beginning.
A.R. Lewis writes dark erotic romance, fantasy, and/or these combined with a healthy dose of violence; call it whatever you’d like. They’re best friends with the monsters under their bed, prefers nature to people, and drinks coffee black, like their soul (that’s a lie... they like coffee sweet and oat-milky.)
https://arlewiswrites.wixsite.com/home