Under the Rushes

by Amy Lane

  Dorjan felt heat wash his face, and he looked down as he struggled to get out of bed.

  He was arrested by Taern’s hand on his wrist. “Mrs. Wrinkle is bringing breakfast. Don’t break her heart and get dressed before she gets back.”

  Dorjan looked at Taern’s hand. It was well manicured and moisturized, like any one of the Forum members. He knew—he paid attention to such things. His own hands were rough and hard and muscular. He’d taken to wearing gloves lined with lotion whenever he could get away with it so his callused hands didn’t attract undue attention.

  He looked at that pale hand and swallowed. “She’d understand,” he said softly, but he didn’t move.

  “Then don’t break my heart,” Taern said, the laughter in his voice gentle. “I mean, it’s the least you can do after you whacked me in my sleep.”

  Dorjan looked up quickly and searched his face for a mark. “I didn’t bruise you, did I?”

  Taern winked. “If I said yes, would you search my body and make it better?

  Dorjan pulled back and glared at him. “I warned you of the risk. Is Mrs. Wrinkle really coming back?”

  “Yes,” Taern said unrepentantly. “Now scoot back here and talk to me for a while so we can give the old girl a thrill and let her think the worst.”

  Dorjan’s glare grew sterner. “Is there any possible way you can try not to shock me with every other word?”

  “Hey, you’re the libertine bastard who bought two whores from Madame Matiya. The least you could do is reap some of the benefits of all that notoriety!”

  Dorjan felt as though his eyes were the size of dinner plates. “People will know about that?” he asked, horrified, and Taern shrugged.

  “It’s possible. Madame M won’t gossip, but the whole house knew. We both had regulars. They’ll ask.”

  Dorjan dropped his face to his knees and groaned. “Oh well,” he muttered. “It can’t hurt my reputation as it is.”

  Taern pulled up his knees under the covers, and Dorjan allowed his body to go off of high alert. “What is your reputation?” he asked, and Dorjan half laughed.

  “Just that I’m Kyon’s half-witted son.” Taern’s amused snort was a balm to his soul. “It’s nice that someone doesn’t find it easy to believe. It’s convenient,” he explained before Taern could say anything else. His world got tangled every time that boy opened his mouth. “Septra spread the word when I was recovery,” he said meditatively. “It was almost funny. Men who had known me all my life, who had praised my studies in front of my father, suddenly started talking slower and ribbing me about how to read orders correctly.” He shrugged and studied his armoire, wondering if he could find a way to pick the lock or if he would have to search Taern’s naked body for it.

  “But… why didn’t you… you’re obviously not… why didn’t you set them straight!” Taern was sputtering, his arms pinwheeling even as he sat, and for the first time in forever, Dorjan felt like smiling. He didn’t, but he felt like it.

  “Because they’re easier to manipulate,” he said frankly. “And because the odds of me catching an assassin’s blade to my throat lessen considerably with every Forum member who thinks I’m dimwitted.” He shrugged. “They let things slip too—you become part of the wallpaper if they think the best you can do is open your mouth and breathe in and out. It’s like you’re a spy in plain sight.”

  Taern gaped at him. “But… when did your father die, Dorjan? How long have you been… spying in plain sight?”

  Dorjan had relaxed for a moment—it had been lovely. Now he remembered how he had survived so long, and he dropped his gaze to his knees again, and then to the door as someone shot it open in a way wholly uncharacteristic of Mrs. Wrinkle.

  It was Areau.

  “You slept in!” Areau accused, stalking into Dorjan’s bedroom like he belonged there. Well, he had woken up here his share of times, but never willingly.

  “Mrs. Wrinkle was—” Dorjan looked at Taern, who was glaring at Areau with a hatred like poison. Oh no. This did not bode well, not if the boy was as stubborn about leaving as he had been about everything else. Dorjan took a deep breath and started again. “There was a miscommunication,” he said shortly. “But a useful one. I needed the sleep.” He smiled and tried to appeal to Areau’s humanity. He’d had it once, but now nothing softened his glare. “Three nights in a row, Ari. Even the niskets take rests!”

  Areau’s glower continued to burn. Apparently his humanity was not making an appearance today. “The niskets don’t need to plot strategy in the morning, Dori. They’re niskets. Their job is in their blood! Vengeance is something you need to study!”

  “Have you even asked how he is?” Taern said suddenly from Dorjan’s side, and Dorjan shook his head to warn the boy off.

  “I’m fine, boy—”

  “What are you even doing here?” Areau asked, glaring at the boy through his long ringlets of once gold hair. “Don’t tell me he bought a whore for himself! What, Dori, was it a two-for-one—”

  Dorjan knew his vision must not have been as red as it seemed, because he saw well enough for his punch to land, and Areau went staggering back into the dresser behind him.

  “Dorjan!” three people shouted—because Mrs. Wrinkle had ventured into the room too, and apparently seeing him in his nightshirt was just as shocking as him throwing a right cross at Areau. Later, he might think to be grateful about this, but right now—

  He’d just taken a deep breath to yell for everybody to clear his room when Lady Krissa joined the party and did it for him.

  “Areau?” she said, her voice very exact, and Areau stood up from the dresser.

  “Yes, my lady Krissa,” he responded almost automatically.

  “Are you in another lover’s room?”

  A twisted expression crossed Areau’s face, and he glared venom at Dorjan. “No, my lady.”

  “Be honest, Areau,” she said, brooking no argument, and Areau cringed and looked straight ahead.

  “Yes, my lady.”

  “Does he want your attentions?”

  Dorjan closed his eyes, and suddenly everyone in the room disappeared, and it was just him and Areau, and he was finally, finally getting a choice.

  “No, my lady,” Dorjan answered truthfully, and Areau’s scorn vanished to be replaced by a terrible, terrible hurt.

  “Dori!” he protested, and Dorjan took a deep breath and kept his eyes closed.

  “I’ll come talk strategy after breakfast if there’s time,” he said, not responding to the plea on Areau’s face. “But in the meantime, I need everyone to clear the room.”

  “Except me,” Taern said from behind him, and Dorjan turned with every intention of telling him that of course Dorjan meant him, he was the one Dorjan needed to leave the most. The movement twisted his core, though, and he let out a gasp at his sore limbs, and Taern met his gaze mockingly. “He’s not all right, Areau, and he needs me to wrap his ribs after breakfast. Thank you, Mrs. Wrinkle!” he called cheerfully, and Mrs. Wrinkle did for that impudent pain in the arse what she’d long ceased doing for Dorjan, and bowed. Then she left the tray of food on the dresser behind her, and in a moment, the room was clear.

  “Was any of that necess—augh!” Damn, there went his ribs again. “Necessary,” he said, trying to keep his breath even, and it was Taern’s turn to glower.

  “Get in the bed, Dorjan, and let me serve you.”

  “I didn’t buy your contract to make you my servant,” Dorjan snapped, taking a step away from the bed.

  “I know you didn’t. You bought it to set me free. Well, I’m free, and what I choose to do with my freedom is serve you breakfast, you stubborn, irritating man, and when I’m done feeding you breakfast, I’m going to tape your ribs. But first, get in bed and eat!”

  Dorjan grunted and shook out his hand, which was aching from contact with Areau’s jaw. “I suppose I’ve had enough conflict this morning,” he muttered and followed orders.

  Taern hopped out of bed stark
naked, and Dorjan was just bemused enough to allow himself the pleasure of watching that taut backside as Taern sauntered toward the tray. He quickly averted his eyes when Taern returned, and he saw the boy smirk.

  “I saw that,” he said softly, setting the tray over Dorjan’s legs and pouring the tea.

  “So did I,” Dorjan returned, refusing to be cowed. If he hadn’t wanted Dorjan to ogle, he would have put on clothes.

  “Good.” Taern grinned. “I was starting to think that whole moment in the alley was my imagination!”

  Dorjan started scooting backward, and Taern put a hand on his shoulder.

  “Please, Dorjan. You can’t run away every time I bring that up or question you about your sex life or get personal. If you’d wanted me to stay uninvolved, you shouldn’t have bought my contract. You could have left it a blowjob in an alleyway, but you made it personal, and now you’ve got me, being personal. Take it like a man.”

  “Shut up,” Dorjan grunted, but he stayed put.

  There were two plates on the tray, both of them with scrambled eggs, toast, and two sausage links, and Taern took one in his hand, then sat at Dorjan’s feet, held the plate up to his chest, and started eating. Dorjan took a forkful of eggs, and for a moment, they were silent. Another bite later, Taern spoke into the silence, his voice low and probably designed not to spook Dorjan, but that was too bad because Dorjan dropped the food off his fork.

  “Was he?” Taern asked and then picked up the toast and used it as a scoop for the eggs.

  “Was who what?” Dorjan asked, but he was pretty sure he knew.

  “Were you and Areau lovers?”

  Dorjan forced himself to swallow a bite of eggs. “In the loosest sense of the term,” he said, hating to confess to even that much.

  Taern looked at him, a toast scoop of eggs halfway to his mouth. “I thought your friend liked girls.”

  Dorjan dropped his fork and shoved the plate across the tray. “He does,” he admitted. “Begging me to fuck him was part of his pain.”

  Taern swallowed and shuddered, then turned to him. “Eat that,” he said shortly. “If I can eat mine hearing that, you can eat yours living with it.”

  Dorjan let out a breath of what might have been laughter. “Yes, but you’ve heard it for five minutes. I’ve lived it for ten years.”

  Taern suddenly pinned him under those midnight-blue eyes. “But no more,” he said seriously, and Dorjan shrugged.

  “I hope not,” he agreed. “It’s why I bought Krissa’s contract, and she seems happy about the job.” He snorted. “She’s certainly good at it!”

  Taern shook his head. “No. I’m telling you—”

  “Telling me?”

  “Yes. Telling. You. I, street whore, Taern of Kiamath Keep, am telling you, Forum Master Dorjan, also known as Nyx, that I will not allow you to sleep with that man again. Find another whore if you must, although that would be a damned waste of this one, but not him.”

  Dorjan squirmed and looked mournfully at his breakfast. He’d been looking forward to actually finishing it this morning. “I have no intentions of doing so,” he said honestly, and then he stopped squirming. “But it’s not that simple, and as you just saw—” He sighed and flexed his hand with the three knuckles that had popped up purple as he ate. “—Areau does know how to work my cricket console.”

  Taern put his plate down deliberately and then hopped off the bed and cornered Dorjan as he sat. “I’m not telling you to stop for me,” he growled. “If it made you happy, I’d say fuck him all the time, twice a day. I’d come watch and beat off. But I’m telling you, we’re going on three days of acquaintanceship here, and that man is bad for you. Anyone could see it. If you hadn’t gone to get Krissa, one of you would have snapped and another one would have ended up dead, and don’t think it might not have been you. So I will say this one more time, Nyx. Not again. Not with him. You’re a smart man. You keep dodging the oath because you take them seriously. Well, I’m not letting you out of this bed until you swear it. Then you’ll have to, you hear me?”

  Dorjan reached out an uncertain hand and smoothed the soft skin along Taern’s collarbone. “I could overpower you,” he said rationally, and Taern agreed.

  “I know you could.”

  “I could leave this room without making this vow.”

  “I have no doubt.”

  Dorjan felt the oath forming in his chest before he spoke it, and what felt like iron plates falling from his shoulders as he gave it breath. “I, Dorjan, Kyon’s son, swear I shall not engage in sexual relations with Areau, my oldest friend, anymore.”

  “Even if he begs?” Taern asked, and Dorjan looked at him levelly.

  “I swear it.”

  Taern nodded and then leaned forward and very, very softly met Dorjan’s lips with a kiss. He backed away after Dorjan had a scant taste, and smiled sweetly when Dorjan brought his fingers up to brush his tingling lips.

  “If you’re done, I’ll tape up those ribs now,” Taern said practically, and Dorjan made a sound in agreement. Then Taern’s natural impish smile asserted itself. “Of course, I’m going to have to see you naked.”

  Dorjan put on his breeches first and ignored the fact that Taern was looking at him avidly when he turned his back. Finally he sat patiently on the bed while Taern dug the bandages and tape out of his drawer. He taped a solid support wall over Dorjan’s bruises and then wrapped the bandage tight around his middle.

  “It’s a good thing you don’t have a lot of hair,” Taern said appreciatively as he wrapped. “It’ll make tearing the tape off not as painful as it could be.”

  Dorjan grimaced. “None of it is enjoyable,” he stated grimly, and Taern grinned up at him, his head almost in Dorjan’s lap.

  “Oh my. Almost humor. I’m impressed. I would have said that part of you withered and died.”

  “It did.” Dorjan grunted as Taern pulled the bandage particularly tight. “All I have left is understatement and an acid tongue. Fear my irony, it may draw blood.”

  Taern’s shoulders jerked against his as he passed the bandage around his back, and when he spoke again, his face was right… next… to Dorjan’s.

  “Your irony, I’ll fear,” Taern said soberly, and Dorjan got to look deeply into those midnight-blue eyes. He swallowed and noticed that Taern had fading freckles on his apple cheeks and the beginnings of crinkles at the corners of his eyes from smiling so often. Taern let out a breath from an open mouth, and it puffed up against Dorjan’s cheeks.

  Dorjan licked his suddenly dry lips and tried to force some sanity into the closeness between them. “I am not a good person,” he confessed painfully. “I’m not gentle, I have no kindness. Fear all of me, Taern. Don’t ever let your guard down. I wouldn’t forgive myself if I hurt you.”

  Taern didn’t move. He stayed right there, barely a kiss away. “Wouldn’t it be a shame, Dorjan, if this was as close as we ever got?”

  Dorjan opened his mouth and barely felt the cool air as Taern moved, his lips not quite touching Dorjan’s, and then the boy was doctoring him again.

  Dorjan closed his eyes, counting to one thousand by prime numbers while praying to a higher authority than Bimuit to help his erection go down easy.

  About the time he hit 997, Taern was done, and Dorjan stood up quickly, grateful that he could. “Nice job,” he said, inclining his head. He pulled a fresh undershirt from his dresser and slid it over his head, then moved to the armoire for the rest of his clothes. Taern got there first and picked the lock with what appeared to be a metal tooth from the comb that had been on the bureau in his room.

  He opened it and grinned and said, “Turn around.”

  “I’m running late—”

  “Then don’t fight me on this. Turn around.”

  Dorjan complied hastily. He would have to sprint this morning to make up his usual time as it was. After a few moments, his Forum robes were thrust at him, as well as one of his newer topcoats and a cravat. He took all three items and folded
them up neatly on the bed, still keeping his back turned. Taern was rooting around, grunting and muttering to himself, and Dorjan hoped seriously that he’d be able to undo whatever he was doing back there.

  “My long satchel?” he asked.

  Taern said, “Hmmm? Oh.” And then it was being handed over Dorjan’s back.

  He was sliding his clothes in neatly, with the ease of long practice, when Taern suddenly realized what he was doing.

  “Why on earth would you do that? I thought you were getting dressed.”

  Dorjan couldn’t help a little smirk of gratification. It’s not like he hadn’t felt exactly like that since he’d found the boy naked and in his bed. “I have enough time to run to the Forum through the stews. How do you think I keep up my knowledge of them? My time is limited, yes? Now can I get my boots? I can’t venture out without them!”

  The boots appeared at his side, and Taern went back to his dissatisfied sounds and increasingly frustrated movements. Dorjan sat the other side of the bed to pull on the specialized boots Areau had designed and that he had made twice a year. Soft rubber and cloth that gave, they were soaked in oil and buffed to look like leather. Dorjan could run in them with ease, but they looked like the damnably uncomfortable things every other Forum member wore.

  And still Taern was rummaging around in his armoire like a shopkeeper after a rare item, and Dorjan stood and sighed.

  “You’re incredibly resourceful, Taern, and I have no doubt you’ll find whatever it is you’re looking for, but I do live here, you know. I may be of service.”

  Taern grunted. “And?”

  “It would help if I knew what you are trying to do?”

  “Fine. Turn around.”

  Dorjan did and saw nothing remarkable except that the clothes in the armoire were in disarray. And that Taern was still naked, and that he looked amazing, with defined muscles on his arms and chest and shoulders, but hardly any bulk at all. Dorjan kept his eyes resolutely away from the boy’s manhood, though he did get an impression of curly black pubic hair.

  “And?” he said, feeling a muscle in his cheek twitch.

  “I need a place I can hide your knife!” Taern gestured with it in exasperation. “I don’t want you to be able to reach for it in your sleep, but I do see why you might want to have it handy in your line of work!”