Sin and Soil

by Anya Merchant

  He couldn’t see her face, but he knew that she still had on that teasing expression. He resigned himself to his fate, sitting down next to the towel and taking his own shoes off.

  When he looked back toward Malon, she’d already begun taking off her apron, slowly untying the strings in back. He couldn’t see more than shapes against the dark, but it was enough to notice as she pulled her tunic up and over her head, letting her breasts fall loose of the fabric and demand his attention with each tantalizing jiggle.

  He knew he should look it away but found it impossible, especially as Malon slowly began wiggling out of her tight leggings. How could this be the same woman who he’d seen as a chiding matron during his time on the farm as a young teenager? It made him question just how young he’d truly been when he’d left to have not noticed the full extent of her beauty.

  “Solas,” cooed Malon. “Are you going to come in?”

  “Yes,” he said. “I’m coming.”

  He stood up, pulling his shirt off, and then hesitating. He’d been trying to ignore the fact Malon’s display had stirred his arousal, but with his pants off, neither he nor she would be able to do that easily.

  Paradoxically, the sudden surge of shame the realization brought about only seemed to make his cock harder, rather than reeling it in. He let his hands pause at the drawstring of his trousers, moving to the edge of the water.

  Malon was already in up to her waist, and Damon watched as she dove forward even deeper. She rolled over, floating on her back, the dual mounds of her breasts poking visibly above the water’s placid surface.

  She wasn’t looking at him, which was all he cared about. Damon took his trousers off in record time, his cock flapping around foolishly as it came loose of the fabric. He hunched over as he leapt forward into the water, splashing more than he needed to.

  “You’re in quite the rush to get clean,” said Malon.

  “It’s as I said,” he replied. “It’s been a rather long and hard journey.”

  “Of that I have no doubt.”

  Damon had hoped that the water would have a cooling effect upon both his body and his lust, and while it did, his new proximity to Malon in the nude almost totally countered it.

  He felt himself growing more turned on, growing more intrigued by her and the situation. He felt guilty, but it was as though his arousal didn’t care, as though it would take any emotion as fuel to burn through to keep its heat going.

  “I can bring you the washing stone if you need it,” said Malon. She held up the grey pumice rock, which also brought her slick breasts above the surface. Droplets fell from them as they jiggled from the movement, beading visibly on her nipples even though the darkness hid the detail.

  “I’m fine,” he said. He wasn’t fine.

  “I’ve finished already,” she said. “I’ll wait for you on the shore?”

  She ended her sentence as a question, as though offering to help wash him as she had so often as a child. He exhaled through his teeth, confused about her intentions and his own perspective. He was reading into the situation in a way that didn’t fit, likely due to the bad influence of his currently hard cock.

  It was a problem, and it would be even more of one if it was still hard when he left the water. Damon decided to do something about it. He turned sideways, making sure one of his arms was hidden from Malon’s view, and began to stroke himself off.

  She was still walking back to shore, water dripping from her hair and body, hips swaying back and forth with each step. Damon briefly entertained the idea of running up behind her and pulling her into a hug, if only to discover how it would feel to bury his cock against her soft, full buttocks.

  She slowly leaned over to pick up the towel, butt jutting outward, breasts dangling like fat, jiggling teardrops. Damon let out a small groan as she began drying herself off.

  She stopped briefly to stretch her back and then began running the fabric over every inch of her skin. She pulled her buttocks apart slightly as she dried them, and she lifted her breasts as she dried underneath, letting each one fall loose with intensely sexual movements.

  “Solas?” she called.

  Her voice was what did it. Damon unloaded his seed into the lake, groaning from the pleasure of it even as the shame hit him harder. What he’d just done was wrong on so many different levels, and yet…

  “Solas,” repeated Malon.

  “What?” he mumbled. “Sorry.”

  “I don’t want to set the towel down, now that it’s damp,” said Malon. “Can you finish up?”

  “I just did,” he said, face flushed.

  CHAPTER 10

  The sound of Malon humming a beautiful, familiar song lulled Damon out of sleep the next morning. He was lying in his childhood bed in his old room, still in a daze over how content those two facts left him.

  “Aesta,” he whispered. He felt the expected brush of guilt as he remembered the previous night, the lake, how he’d looked at her, but it was fleeting. She needn’t know about that, and he’d control himself better in the future.

  “Solas,” replied Malon, with a smile that matched his own contentment.

  “That song…” he said. “I know it.”

  “It’s the one that Ria learned during her visits to her people,” said Malon. “Remember? She tried to teach us how to sing it once.”

  “Isn’t it about war?”

  “More the aftermath.” Malon had let her hair out of the braid, and she brushed a few unruly red strands loose from her face. “The time when the people who stay behind regain their footing, begin to rebuild, and the old warriors come back with their love.”

  She wore only a thin blue night slip, one which she’d had since before Damon had left years earlier that had been patched and mended over the years. It had a drooping neckline and barely reached a few inches past where it needed to cover her lower reaches.

  Damon was just awake enough to begin to notice why Malon was moving around his room. He’d slept naked, and she was gathering his discarded clothes. She reached to pick up his abandoned trousers, leaning forward, letting the cleavage revealed by her slip billow downward in a manner that drew his eyes like a flamework.

  “Are you getting up?” asked Malon.

  “Of course, it’s just…” He reflexively set his hands into his lap. “I need to get dressed, first.”

  “When has that ever stopped you before?” Malon grinned. “Remember the time you… Ah, well. I suppose it would only serve to tease you if I brought up such old embarrassments.”

  She sighed and sat down next to him on the bed, resting a hand on his leg. Damon wondered if she realized how close her fingers were to his cock. He suppressed a wince, realizing that if he didn’t stay calm, his erection would brush her hand as it came to life.

  “I’ll find time to wash the clothes you arrived in,” said Malon. “You have more in your pack, I hope? There are a few of your old things here, but aside from some of the larger shirts, I doubt much will fit you.”

  “Aesta,” he said, with a hint of warning in his voice. She’d started rubbing her hand back forth, which felt incredible, dangerously so.

  “I am sorry if I dote on you incessantly,” said Malon. “Damon… Having you back has made me realize just how much I missed you to begin with.

  “I feel the same way,” he said. “The hustle of city life fit me for a time. Right up until I left, even. But I’ve done some growing in my time away, in a way that’s reminded me of what matters most.”

  Malon gave him a small, almost shy smile and leaned forward. She was sideways to him as she planted a soft peck on his lips, which had the effect of giving Damon a deep inhale of her wonderful, feminine smell. He couldn’t resist wrapping his arms around her for a moment, holding her body against his in a strange, but intimate, sideways hug.

  “Oh!” Malon stood up suddenly. “I forgot the porridge!”

  Her departure left Damon with room to sit and slide out of bed. Malon’s scent was still stuck in
his head as he pulled a tunic and a pair trousers out of his pack and began getting dressed.

  Malon was already ladling out a bowl of blackseed porridge for him. Damon’s relationship with the hearty staple cereal had fluctuated over the years.

  He’d turned his nose up at it more often than not back during his childhood, and then begun to crave the stuff upon leaving. He’d found it impossible in the truest sense of the word to find an inn that could prepare in Malon’s practiced style.

  “Maple sap?” asked Malon, wiggling the glass bottle of the precious syrup.

  “Of course.” Damon grinned as she leaned forward to add a few drops into the bowl.

  The motion caused Malon’s night slip to billow forward again, pulling so low against her cleavage that he half expected to see something even more lurid popping out. Did he want to see that? He didn’t let himself think the answer.

  The more important question was how long it would take him to adjust to the new situation at the tower house. Malon was the same woman who she’d been during his childhood. He was the one who’d changed, who’d grown to see her differently, and he was the one who would need to…

  “Whoops!” Malon let out a small, giggling laugh as a drop of maple sap landed on the flawless, pale flesh of one of her breasts. She seemed unaware of Damon’s focus as she ran a thumb over the sticky syrup, which only managed to spread it around. She shifted her approach, cupping her breast with one hand and rubbing with the fingers of the others.

  “Oh no…” said Malon. “Look at my melons!”

  “What?” Damon jumped a bit, his knee hitting against the underside of the table. “No, I was…”

  He trailed off, realizing that Malon’s attention had shifted to window, where her actual, farm grown melons were currently under assault. A group of three giant boars, each one standing nearly as tall as a horse, were in the process of opening a gap in the wooden fence protecting the farm’s produce.

  “Not again!” cried Malon. “They ate nearly half of the crop last time.”

  “I’ll handle this,” said Damon. “With any luck, we might even end up with some pork to eat for tonight.”

  Malon looked as though she was going to object, but she seemed to think better of it in the end. She simply smiled and nodded as he hurried to grab his sword and rush outside. Almost as soon as he’d stepped in the open, the boars seemed to hesitate, shifting their attention toward him with wary respect rather than continuing their assault on the fence.

  It was a beautiful morning, with only a few wispy traces of clouds overhead, a soft, swirling breeze, and drops of dew coating the grass. The air smelled so crisp and clean that it made Damon wonder how he’d ever endured the ever-present stale city air.

  He approached the boars slowly, projecting strength and confidence. Len had never staged a monster fight with one of the creatures before, as he’d always been of the opinion that they were too ordinary, too familiar for colonists born and raised in Merinia, where boars were also commonplace.

  Still, they were undeniably dangerous. The combination of their bulk and their razor-sharp tusks left them with numerous means with which to maim or kill a human. One of the boars let out a deep snort and bowed its head as he approached, a gesture which he doubted signified anything resembling submission for the creatures.

  He drew his sword as it charged him, remembering two unfortunate facts that deserved his attention. His finger was still splinted, which made it hard to maintain a strong grip on his weapon, let alone attack at full strength. On top of that, since he hadn’t yet found the time to sharpen it, his sword still had a blunted edge.

  He still managed to dodge the boar’s attack and counter, though it was in the form of a rather mild smack to the flank, rather than killing blow. The boar squealed in surprise, continuing off into the forest, where it practically created its own trail as it bumbled through the undergrowth.

  Unphased, the other two boars approached him slowly, one of them moving to circle behind him. Despite the fact that they weren’t technically predators, they still seemed to have solid instincts when it came to cornering an opponent they felt they could overpower. He cursed, making a mental note to find time to sharpen his sword even if it was just on a smooth rock.

  He attacked first, hoping it would give him the edge. He leapt into the air, gripping his sword hilt with both hands and sweeping downward to deliver a resonant crack of a strike directly to the nose of one of the giant boars.

  The blow elicited the pain he’d been expecting it to, but the boars reacted opposite how he’d hoped. It rushed forward instead of backward, dropping its head low to dip underneath him before sweeping up and over.

  Only by the True Divine’s grace did the razor-sharp tusks miss Damon’s stomach, though the angle at which the boar’s upper skull slammed into him was only a small improvement.

  He flipped over once as he flew through the air, landing hard on his side with the wind knocked out of him. His sword had come loose from his hand, and his broken finger throbbed with pain that made him suspect he’d added a few days to the time it would take to heal.

  He heard the stomping footsteps approach as much as he felt them resonate through the soil. Damon covered his head and brought his knees up to his chest, knowing it would do basically nothing to protect them if the massive boars began kicking and goring him in earnest.

  “Get back!” shouted Malon. “You don’t belong here! Go!”

  One of the boars made an odd choking noise. Damon lifted his head, his concern for Malon outweighing his own caution. One of the boars was already retreating into the trees, while the other seemed to be choking, or at least short on breath.

  “Shoo!” shouted Malon. “Go!”

  She clapped her hands, extended her arms, and stood up on her tiptoes, trying to make herself seem as large and intimidating as possible. It would have been comical under less dangerous circumstances. Unbelievably, it worked, and the remaining boar took off toward the cover of the forest, gasping for air as though it’d had just emerged from the water.

  “Are you alright?” asked Malon, dropping to her knees next to him.

  “I’m fine.” Damon frowned and furrowed his brow. “How did you manage that?”

  “Oh, they come around here every now and then,” said Malon. “I’ve learned what scares them. It doesn’t take much, but you have to know the trick.”

  She was still dressed in her night slip, which seemed borderline lewd to be wearing out in the open, even on a farmstead as remote as theirs. Damon watched her chest heave as she took deep breaths. She grinned at him and tapped a finger on his nose.

  “I appreciate you trying to help, solas, but there are more effective ways for you to go about it,” she said. “I can keep the beasts of the forest at bay. It’s the heavy lifting and harvesting I need your help for.”

  “The grunt work, then?”

  “Your words, not mine,” said Malon.

  She stood up and then helped him to his feet, keeping his injured hand in hers to momentarily fuss about his finger.

  “It’s fine,” he lied. “My sword hilt just rattled against it a bit.”

  “I’ll re-set the splint later tonight,” said Malon.

  CHAPTER 11

  True to Malon’s word, there was plenty of work to be done on the farm that Damon was more than capable of even with his broken finger. He took point on gathering and splitting firewood, one of the tasks that had been his core responsibility during his last few years on the farm during childhood.

  Despite how dense the forest surrounding the farm was, the job still required him to hike out a fair distance before finding suitable deadwood. Most of the trees near the farm were either too young and thin or too old and massive to be suitable.

  The Malagantyan Forest was primarily blackwood, with a sprinkling of maple, oak, and the crimmor trees that Malon harvested the crimson sap from. While blackwood could technically burn in a fire, it tended to need a much hotter flame to get started
.

  Oak wood was what he wanted, and he still had the instincts and knowledge needed to spot the trees at a distance. It took him less than half an hour to find a suitable target, a standing trunk of deadwood thin enough to saw through.

  He could use the saw with his offhand, which made the job relatively straightforward, to start. The tree was larger than he’d first realized, and the challenge then became pacing himself as he slowly dragged it across the ruddy forest floor, minding the dips in the soil and protruding rocks and roots.

  It took him the better part of an hour to get his prize back to the farmstead, and an interesting sight greeted him there. A small carriage sat in front of the tower house, with a man in the plain black and brown tunic of a carriage driver watching two horses in the small stable where Malon housed her own stallion.

  Damon was more interested in whoever the carriage was ferrying around. He let go of his firewood haul, wiped his hands off on his trousers, and hurried toward the tower house.

  The sound of a heated discussion reached him before he’d even opened the door. He recognized the pitch of their tones and knew the essence of the argument, if not the subject. It was like hearing two actors work a long-rehearsed scene, the rise and fall of authority and annoyance.

  Damon grinned. Only Malon and Vel could ever argue like that. He opened the door and stepped into the common room, feeling an even deeper sense of homecoming stirring within him.

  “Seta, please,” soothed Malon.

  “No, aesta!” shouted Vel. “I refuse! You said nothing of needing me to stay in your letter. You can’t simply invite someone to visit under false pretenses and then just, just…”

  Vel’s expression was flustered, and her arms were tightly folded across her chest, shoulders stubbornly set. She wore a blue dress with intricate yellow embroidery that looked far more appropriate for a noble’s court than a remote farmstead, with matching slippers of resplendent white leather.

  It wasn’t her clothing which Damon focused on, however, but her hair. It was twisted up into a Merinian bun, with two fanciful, dangling spirals on either side. He blinked, eyes roving up and down her body, taking in her height, the nature of her assets underneath the clothing, and felt a horrifying realization click into place.