The King's Whisper

by T. S. Cleveland

  Keeping his eyes down, Felix untied his sash, sending the oversized trousers to the ground, his heart racing as he stepped from them. “It wasn’t inappropriate,” he said, looking up. “Kissing me. Wanting me. Because I want you, too. I don’t want Merric. I want you, Torsten. I—”

  His words were cut off when Torsten’s mouth pressed insistently against his own, and he was momentarily overwhelmed, not just by the kiss, but by the idea of the kiss, by the thought that Torsten the bandit king was kissing him. And it was so much better than what he remembered of their kiss on the pirate ship. He wrapped his arms around Torsten’s neck in full reciprocation. They were near enough a similar height, each other’s match for a perfect kiss, and when he angled his head, Torsten deepened it, running his tongue along the seam of Felix’s lips before coaxing them open.

  Hands were in his hair, holding him in place, as if Torsten was worried he would try to run away before he was ready to let go. Felix groaned happily at the slightly rough handling, the way Torsten’s fingers pulled at his curls. Merric had held him like porcelain, as if he was some breakable thing susceptible to damage, but Torsten didn’t seem to think he’d break, growling low in his throat when Felix pushed against his hands, testing his strength.

  The hands left his hair when Torsten’s mouth left his, slipping down to grip him around the waist and tug him even closer. Felix could feel how hard he was, could feel the heat of him pressing against his hip. They were both breathing heavily, and Felix was dizzy from the sudden rush of blood from his head.

  “Are you sure this is what you want?” Torsten mumbled as he nuzzled his cheek against Felix’s and nipped at his jaw.

  Felix turned his head, offering more of his neck, and Torsten licked a line across his pulse before pressing a kiss on the base of his shoulder. Felix’s answer was a gasp, ragged from the sensation of Torsten’s teeth on his skin. “Gods, yes. This is exactly what I want,” he sighed. Days and nights of seeing Torsten’s smirks, his eyes and shoulders, of hearing his throaty laugh, of feeling his nearness and heat in the dark, had inevitably led to this moment. And Felix wasn’t sure, and could care less now, just who was persuading who as he spread his hands over Torsten’s strong back, letting his nails dig into the fabric of his shirt.

  “You’re certain?” Torsten asked breathlessly as he yanked his shirt from his head.

  Felix captured his mouth in another searing kiss as he moved his hands to the waist of Torsten’s trousers, slipping his fingers beneath to touch hot skin. “I am,” he said, reluctantly pulling back from their kiss to meet his eyes. “I want you. I’m a free man, and I give myself to you freely.” If he’d remained Torsten’s prisoner, his captive flautist, had Torsten not released him and tried to take him home, he couldn’t swear that what was happening now would never have happened. Maybe that was shameful of him, and maybe he was weak, but he couldn’t honestly say he wouldn’t have wanted this, wanted to feel like this, even then.

  He pushed at Torsten’s shoulders, moving him back a step, and was surprised at how easily he allowed it, compliant beneath Felix’s hands. Leaving the comfort of Torsten’s mouth, he moved his lips to his neck, his chest, his stomach. As he dropped to his knees, Torsten inhaled sharply, moving his hands to rest gently in Felix’s hair.

  They locked eyes as Felix’s fingers worked deftly with the tie of his trousers, and when they were undone, pulled them down, freeing Torsten from the confines of his underclothes. He was thick, stunningly, magnificently so, and his flesh was hot. Torsten’s fingers tightened in his hair and he groaned.

  With one hand wrapped firmly around the base of his length, and the other on his hip, Felix kept his eyes on Torsten as he looked down, watching his every move with awe in his eyes and a wordless question on his lips, until a firm squeeze made his eyes close and his head fall back. With a rush of desire, Felix parted his lips and dragged his tongue along the length of him, indulging in the sweet and salty taste of his skin. He pushed his nose into the thick, dark hair at the base, breathing in the familiar musk from its purest point. Only when Torsten was throbbing in his hand, and his hips were thrusting pleadingly, did he stop teasing and open his mouth to him.

  Torsten was large, certainly befitting of a man known as King, but Felix was determined to take every glorious inch of him into his mouth. Torsten’s knees quaked as he began, but Felix steadied him, pressing one hand against his buttocks as the other moved to gently yet firmly grasp his balls. He would take his time, he decided, as he began bobbing his head fixedly, taking in a bit more of him with each move. Torsten’s breath became rapid, as did his fingers moving through Felix’s hair, urging him on, seeking release. And when Felix had taken him in completely, and Torsten, his captive now, was a desperate, mewling, needful mess, he pulled away, releasing him and wiping his hand across his mouth.

  “What—don’t—” Torsten began, reaching for him and almost stumbling forward, too aroused and disturbed to complete his plea.

  Felix put his hands on Torsten’s waist to steady him as he rose to his feet. “I don’t want you to finish yet,” he said, his voice rough. He felt rough. “I want this to last.” He pawed at Torsten’s chest and leaned against him, eager to taste Torsten’s mouth again on his, kissing him greedily.

  Torsten groaned, moving his hands to Felix’s groin and grasping the rigid length of him before dropping his hand, and, with measured breaths, backing away. Felix might have felt self-conscious to be standing naked in the lamplight in front of Torsten—all hard muscle and thick chest hair and that intimidatingly large, marvelous cock—while he was slim, smooth, and of modest proportions. But he didn’t feel self-conscious at all, because Torsten was looking at him hungrily, not just with appreciation, but with unmitigated, purposeful desire. He wasn’t sure he’d ever been looked at in quite that way before, and he found he rather enjoyed it, almost as much as he enjoyed looking at Torsten’s naked body. He hadn’t been able to appreciate it fully when he’d seen him naked on the riverbank, seeing as how they’d been close to freezing to death, but he could certainly enjoy it now. He let his eyes drag indulgently over the planes of Torsten’s body, taking in his finely muscled chest, trim waist, strong thighs, the long fingers that now tapped anxiously against his leg, and, of course, the sheer wonder of his cock. Looking, however, was only part of the thrill. Felix could also touch. And taste. And hear the sighs and groans, as well as the proclamations of ultimate pleasure he was yet to draw out. And he wanted it all.

  A frown suddenly struck the lust from Torsten’s face, and he hung his head with a frustrated sigh. “We can’t do this,” he said.

  “What?” Felix asked, suddenly pulled from his reverie. “Why not?”

  Torsten looked grave. “We don’t have any—um …”

  His stutter, mixed with the pink of his cheeks, led Felix to his meaning quicker than words. Relieved, he bent to his satchel, which lay beneath their jumble of abandoned clothing, and quickly closed his fingers around a small vial, the same one Quinn had put on display. Scratching hurriedly through the label reading “For Merric and Felix” with his thumbnail, he closed the satchel and rose.

  It had clearly been used before, and he presented it to Torsten shyly, placing it into the palm of his outstretched hand. Torsten eyed the vial curiously, as if he was thinking about saying something about it, but Felix closed his hand over his, and, pressing against him, kissed him languidly.

  Torsten dropped to the pallet, pulling Felix into his lap. He wrapped his legs around Torsten’s waist and clung to him, holding his shoulders, as Torsten opened the oil and dribbled it onto his fingers. When more was poured onto the base of Felix’s spine, dripping into the crevice of his backside, he laughed until Torsten kissed him quiet.

  He had done this for Merric, shown him what it was like with his fingers, but it had been some time since he’d felt the press against his own entrance, gently massaging the ring of muscle. He’d nearly forgotten the burn of the stretch, as a finger thicker than his
own eased into the tightness of his body. He rested his head on Torsten’s shoulder. “Gods,” he whispered against warm skin. “More,” he pleaded. “Please.”

  Torsten obliged, slipping in a second, and Felix gasped at the stretch. He rocked into the touch, moaning when Torsten kissed him. It was wet and slick and messy, and when Torsten finally added a third finger, Felix’s entire body shuddered, erupting with pleasure, and he came between them, covering their stomachs with his release.

  “Sorry, I’m sorry,” Felix panted, hiding his face in his hands.

  Removing his fingers, Torsten took hold of his hands and moved them, his eyes smoldering and lids heavy as he leaned in close. “I’m not,” he murmured, brushing the sweaty curls from Felix’s forehead and kissing him, his unsullied fingers cupping his cheek. It was a deep kiss, sweet and slow, as Torsten shifted him back ever so slightly and Felix took the vial from the floor, tipping oil into his hand and rubbing it along Torsten’s length.

  Torsten gripped his hips, keeping Felix steady as he moved into position. His breath hitched at the pressure, and he had to bear down, taking deep breaths while Torsten whispered encouragement. When he finally slipped past the tight ring of muscle, they both cried out. Felix took him in a little at a time, Torsten smoothing his hands along his back, keeping still.

  Felix wasn’t used to such a stretch; it hurt at first, and when he’d finally taken the last inch and their bodies were flush, he had to pause and become accustomed to the feeling before he could move. Torsten wasn’t keen on rushing him, kissing his neck, rubbing his back, and kneading his buttocks while he adjusted. When the edge of discomfort finally ebbed, Felix swiveled his hips, eliciting a gasp from them both.

  “You feel good,” Torsten whispered, his lips on Felix’s neck.

  He could feel Torsten inside him, the throb of him, the heat, and it was more overwhelming than he’d expected. All of this was more than he’d expected. He braced his hands on Torsten’s shoulders and lifted up. When he sank down, Torsten moved his hands, touching where their bodies were connected, his eyes glazed with pleasure. Felix remained limp where he was pressed against Torsten’s torso, but he could feel the interest returning as Torsten pushed up with his hips, matching his rhythm. He chased the feeling, starting to move at a quicker pace. After another panting kiss, he pushed Torsten down onto the furs, planting his hands on his chest for leverage, angling his hips, and squeezing.

  Torsten was fascinating beneath him, wild, touching him everywhere he could reach while bucking up, meeting Felix thrust for thrust every time he slammed down. Within moments, Felix was hard again, and Torsten licked his palm before taking him in his hand, his grip tight and callused. “Torsten,” Felix gasped, because his name sounded perfect gasped aloud in the small, smoky tent. He stopped his own efforts for a moment to grind against him as the skilled hand goaded him toward another release.

  They should have been doing this from the very beginning. If they’d been together from that first day, he’d have known so much sooner that this was no ordinary bandit king, that he was someone special, someone to covet more than magical flutes or a hundred chests teeming with gold. Being together as they were now had been inevitable, and the dread he’d felt so often in his stomach was gone, smothered. Instead, he was singing on the inside, vibrating with contentment and joy, and it wasn’t a feeling he’d ever expected to experience. He’d thought it forever out of his reach, but he could touch it with his hands now, and kiss it on the mouth, and it was good, it was unescapable, it was right.

  Perhaps it was because he sensed Felix’s growing exhaustion, or perhaps it was because he felt the sudden urge to seize control, but Torsten, in an instant, was grabbing Felix’s waist and flipping him to his back. He slipped out, and Felix whined in complaint, but it wasn’t a moment before Torsten had his legs in the air and was plunging back inside.

  Felix sighed, the angle perfect, the strength behind every thrust exactly what he needed. They couldn’t kiss—they were both too breathless—but that didn’t stop Torsten from nearly bending him in half so he could mouth at his neck and chest, leaving a trail of wet kisses upon his skin that Felix welcomed with whimpers.

  There was no space left between them. Torsten kept his hands in Felix’s hair, his elbows braced on either side of his head, caging him in. He was relentless, switching between slow, deep thrusts that made Felix’s legs shake, and quick, hard ruts that pushed his body into the blankets. And every time he moved, Torsten’s sweaty torso rubbed against him. It was almost too much to bear.

  Felix’s cries were continuous, his head rolling side to side, his mouth open as he gasped for breath. “Torsten, Torsten,” he panted, chant-like. When Torsten gripped one of his thighs and hoisted it higher, he sank in even deeper, emitting a groan that reminded Felix of the wolves’ howls the night they’d chased him.

  He took Torsten’s head in his hands, demanding his eyes.

  Torsten slowed, grinding in a deep, languid rhythm, his forehead shiny with sweat. Felix traced his lower lip, pressing into the soft flesh with the pad of his thumb. Torsten lowered himself down, the sweat of their chests rubbing together. He still held Felix’s thigh propped high, and he was pressed so deep that Felix could do nothing but shake, his eyes fluttering shut.

  “Gods,” he whispered, dazed, and Torsten kissed him, slowly and thoroughly, with tongue and teeth and the silent promise of more, always more.

  “I’m close,” Torsten warned, rolling his hips and sighing into Felix’s mouth. His hand snaked between them, wrapping around Felix. “I want you to come while I’m inside you.”

  Felix nodded, because yes, yes, he could do that. He was so close to doing that already. “Harder,” he demanded.

  Torsten laughed, catching his lips in a final kiss before propping himself on one elbow. He stroked Felix in time with his thrusts, fast and rough. Felix was already so taut with tension that it only took a few swipes of Torsten’s fist to take him over the edge. He curled forward with a cry, coming for a second time within Torsten’s hand.

  Torsten guided him through it, wringing each drop of bliss from him with a tight fist. Then he pulled out and flipped Felix onto his hands and knees. Grunting, he entered him again, taking him hard as promised. Holding Felix’s hips in place, he surged forward, chasing his own finish now, with Felix like a ragdoll beneath him, happy to be moved, pulled, and held in whatever ways Torsten wanted. It was several hazy minutes before his hips began to stall, and with a mighty groan and four final thrusts, he climaxed.

  Felix’s breaths were haggard as Torsten kissed the back of his neck, damp with sweat, and then moved to his side, pulling Felix in beside him. Their heavy breaths were in tandem, and Torsten’s fingers held tightly to Felix’s arm until, finally, he softened and slipped out.

  Felix sighed at this, and Torsten’s hand moved to once again trace his entrance, pushing a finger inside until Felix moaned, bending back his head. “Torsten,” he begged, and the bandit stopped his exploration with a tired laugh.

  “Sorry,” he said, moving his hand to rest on Felix’s waist. “It’s just hard to stop touching you. You’re beautiful.”

  Even though he’d just been thoroughly ravished, Felix felt himself blush. “You think I’m beautiful?” He couldn’t help but ask. His face flushed even redder when Torsten climbed on top of him, and he was smiling and flushed, too. And beautiful. He was the most beautiful sight Felix had ever seen.

  “Yes, very beautiful,” Torsten said, his hazel eyes bright and warm. “Too beautiful not to touch.”

  Felix brushed Torsten’s cheek with his knuckles. His beard was softer than he’d imagined. Everything about him was so much more than he’d imagined. “You need to sleep now,” he said softly, committing Torsten’s face poised above his to memory. “We both do.” He yawned, covering his mouth. “It can’t be long until dawn, and we’ve much to do then.”

  Torsten nodded, a sad smile on his face as he rose and reached for the fresh clothes. “Get
dressed,” he said, tossing Felix’s things to him as he began to don his own. “There’s no way I can sleep beside you naked now.”

  They dressed quickly, then Torsten blew out the lantern and lay down, pulling Felix onto his chest before pulling up the blankets. “We’ll figure everything out in the morning,” he said petting Felix’s curls with lazy swirls of his thumb. “You’ll help us decide what to do? There’s so few of us left.”

  Felix had to choke back tears before he could answer. “I’ll help,” he promised, tracing a heart over Torsten’s chest. “I’ll do everything I can.”

  Torsten sighed peacefully. “Thank you.”

  In a few minutes, Torsten’s fingers stopped moving in his hair and his breathing slowed, evening out. He was asleep. Felix played a sleeping song twice in his head, then moved slowly from Torsten’s embrace before tucking the covers back around him. Pulling on the slightly too small boots of a dead bandit, and donning the same man’s fur pelt that was far too large, he grabbed his satchel and slung it around his shoulders. He looked down at Torsten, sleeping deeply with a smile on his face. With any luck, he would see that face again.

  He didn’t want to leave him. He didn’t want him to wake up alone and find him gone. But it had to be this way. There was a sureness inside him, something beyond himself, beyond instinct, telling him that it was what he had to do, and he was powerless to disobey it.

  He tore his eyes from Torsten and slipped quietly from the tent, soon entering the dark forest, with fear in his heart. And guilt. And something else, something stronger that was making him go. He would find Gethrin’s camp and get Torsten what he needed. He was going to be brave for once in his life.

  Not sure which way to begin, he chose the path with the most moonlight and hoped Gethrin was not too far away. After a time, he heard the far-off sound of wolves howling, but he wasn’t afraid of them now. He knew they weren’t the most dangerous thing in the woods.