Constant

by Lexi Ander

  Just the thought of Sohm’lan putting his mouth on him made Mestor’s stomach flip with unbridled excitement. That, coupled with the sudden thought of peeling the sodden layers off Sohm’lan’s hard body, caused his mouth to go dry. Lust coursed through his veins, and thankfully, the steamy stall cloaked the potency of the pheromones he emitted. He panicked a little as he attempted to get himself under control before the water was shut off. He had spent a lifetime reading Sohm’lan’s expressions, and the warlord’s stern countenance warned of an underlying anger he had not given voice to yet. Mestor refused to sabotage himself and hand Sohm’lan a reason to leave before they had a chance to try the healing technique from the story. Something in him that had nothing to do with his desire for Sohm’lan hummed with excitement, as if a dormant part eagerly waited for Sohm’lan to open a secret door Mestor could sense but not see. If he made one incorrect move or said the wrong thing, he would chase Sohm’lan away and something indescribable within Mestor would change for the worse.

  Since he turned fifteen, Mestor had loved Sohm’lan in a wholly un-waterson way. He had understood then that Sohm’lan would never—could never—love him in the same way. He had resigned himself to adoring Sohm’lan in secret, and since his heart was already encumbered, he could not give serious consideration to any lover. None could ever be who he really wanted. When he showed no signs of building a nest and choosing a mate, he thought his parents would arrange a marriage of convenience for him. But after he had been assailed with the vision of the many futures he could have with Sohm’lan, he put his affairs in order. The one lesson the visions taught him was the need to be careful of his actions. He had seen the potential consequences if he acted rashly or rushed Sohm’lan.

  Sohm’lan rebuffed him often and repeatedly, and sometimes Mestor wanted to scoff at the farseeing, impatient to make Sohm’lan his. But his father had taught him to heed his instincts. Right then, his intuition told him Sohm’lan was on the edge, struggling with fight or flight. He would bolt if Mestor revealed how eager he was for Sohm’lan to touch him like a lover, so he remained honorable, keeping his hands to himself as he washed. Desperately, he tried not to think about how Sohm’lan’s hands felt against his scales, but failed, driving himself mad imagining a slow sensual torture. When Sohm’lan turned off the water, Mestor released a sigh of relief.

  Unexpectedly, Sohm’lan did not immediately leave the shower. Instead he quickly stripped off his drenched uniform, revealing tantalizing brown scales the color of smoky quartz stretched over an impressive musculature. Mestor pressed himself back into the corner, his knees turning weak at the splendid sight. The tip of Sohm’lan’s thick, heavy tail brushed the tops of Mestor’s feet, the dark openings of the barb canals visible along the apex of his spine. How many times over the last summer had he fantasized about how Sohm’lan would look bared to Mestor’s sight? The fantasy paled in the face of reality. Sohm’lan’s movements were economized, quick and businesslike, unaware that Mestor watched every swipe of his hands. He ran his gaze over Sohm’lan, devouring every bit of exposed scale until he could not take it anymore. If he stayed, he would shove Sohm’lan against the wall and make sure Sohm’lan reached completion by his touch alone.

  Suddenly, the knowing rose up, startling Mestor. It was not a vision but hyper-intuition that had been with him since his first vision of his and Sohm’lan’s future. Several times when he seriously considered making a bold move, the knowing kicked in with an intensity that warned him away from the rash, impatient action, reminding him not to push. He reacted without thinking, brushing by Sohm’lan to grab one of the two robes hanging next to the shower before he left the lavatory, still dripping water.

  A part of him, the horny part, wailed as he walked away. His arrogant side promised he could have Sohm’lan right then if he put his energy into seducing him, but the intimacy would be fleeting, and then Sohm’lan would be lost to him, likely forever. The visions had warned him of such. He wanted more than a few hours of pleasure. He would claim Sohm’lan for all time, and because of that desire, he listened to the knowing. Keeping his hands to himself was the path to making Sohm’lan his.

  Limping heavily, Mestor staggered from the receiving room to the antechamber of his sleeping chamber. By Poseidon’s balls, he hurt. Not for the first time, he wondered if Nethus’s barbs, or claws, were poisoned. His wounds had to be metaphysical as well as physical. He had been cut up before, but it never felt like this. One moment his muscles were numb to all feeling and then suddenly twisting with agony. Perhaps the oddness had to do with receiving the injuries in the Dream. Whatever the reason, Mestor hoped he found relief soon.

  At the thought, he shivered, imagining Sohm’lan between his legs, his mouth on his scales, tongue flicking out. Making a rough noise, he headed to the small cabinet that held a select set of libations he rarely indulged in. He poured two fingers of Blue Ice into a glass. Listening hard for Sohm’lan’s progress in the lavatory, he decided to pour a glass for him as well. He tossed back the burning liquid just as Sohm’lan entered the room wrapped in Mestor’s spare robe. Seeing Sohm’lan wearing something that belonged to him lit a fire in his blood. One glass of Blue Ice was not helping, so he poured another. Sohm’lan prowled toward him, unaware his stride announced he was a predator on the hunt. Poseidon help him. Mestor needed to behave and not respond to the challenge in Sohm’lan’s eyes.

  He knocked back the second drink with one long, hard swallow then stored the glass. With a limping stride, he crossed to the door to his sleeping chamber. Behind him, he heard Sohm’lan take the glass left for him. Mestor stopped at the foot of the sleeping platform, at a loss as to what he should do.

  “You will be more comfortable if you lie down,” Sohm’lan said from right behind him.

  Mestor startled, embarrassed he had been caught staring at the black satin coverlet that only added another layer to his lusty thoughts. It was a good thing Sohm’lan could not read his mind. Suddenly feeling modest, Mestor clutched the robe to him as he crawled to the center of the sleeping platform. When he turned to face Sohm’lan, he caught his breath when the stitches pulled painfully across his abdomen.

  “Stop trying to seduce me, and just lie down,” Sohm’lan growled.

  “If I was trying to woo you, old man, I would have foregone the robe,” Mestor snarled back, surprised when he settled on his back to see Sohm’lan grinning at him.

  Suddenly, he was not sure if this was such a good idea. Yes, he wanted Sohm’lan to touch him intimately, but what if this was the only time Sohm’lan would do so? Mestor was not sure he wanted to carry the memory of what he could not have for the rest of his life.

  Before he could protest, Sohm’lan crept toward him, the robe gaping open to tease Mestor with the view of Sohm’lan’s hard chest and the sculpted planes of a warrior’s body. Those brilliant blue eyes were unblinking, remaining steady on him as Sohm’lan pushed Mestor’s thighs apart. He gripped the luxurious bedcover beneath him, panting like a youngling who had never had anyone on his sleeping platform before. He attempted to thump his tail on the bedding but Sohm’lan was straddling the appendage, making movement impossible. He bit back a wail of longing. He was going to die if Sohm’lan put his mouth on him, he was sure of it.

  Sohm’lan pushed aside the robe to reveal the puncture in Mestor’s thigh. Mayra had used four stitches to close the wound. The scales were unevenly matched and would need to be realigned by a medical professional when he returned home, or the scar would hamper his movement.

  Without a word, Sohm’lan settled on his stomach, pressing more firmly against Mestor’s tail. He wanted to squirm but held still as Sohm’lan sniffed the injury. Then he tentatively licked around the edge. Mestor’s breath caught and he barely kept from gurgling as he reveled in the sensations as Sohm’lan’s motions steadily grew bolder and more confident. When Sohm’lan sealed his mouth over the hole, he could not believe how scorching hot Sohm’lan’s thin lips were against his scales. When Sohm’la
n sucked at the wound, he stimulated an intense heat within Mestor that had absolutely nothing to do with lust.

  In the back of his mind, Mestor sensed something stir as if it were being awakened. With each swipe of Sohm’lan’s split tongue, an area low in Mestor’s gut ignited into a roaring bonfire. One by one, Mestor’s black scales lightened as if shielding a living flame. When Sohm’lan finally lifted his head, his gasp echoed Mestor’s. They both panted, their ragged breaths oddly in sync. Mestor was mesmerized. Sohm’lan’s blue eyes flared brighter as he moved up Mestor’s body, brushing aside the robe’s ties and parting the cloth to expose his abdomen.

  He could not help it, he moaned when Sohm’lan ran his chin across the scales of his stomach. He licked the lower part of the wound, and the almost unbearable warmth in Mestor’s core rose to greet Sohm’lan’s burning lips. Sohm’lan growled, tongue swiping over Mestor’s scales, attacking the slash with a vigor that was almost sexual. Everywhere Sohm’lan touched him, Mestor burned, the sensation washing away the pain of the wound and replacing the agony with a devouring arousal. At the apex of his legs, his penis slid from its sheath, brushing against Sohm’lan as it lengthened.

  “Sohm!” Mestor cried out, his hand going to the back of Sohm’lan’s head, pressing Sohm closer to him. Something was happening. He had been achingly aroused before, but not like this. Never like this.

  Sohm’lan snarled against him, his strong hands gripping Mestor’s hips. He wanted to writhe under the flames Sohm’lan had brought to life within him. But all he could do was curl over Sohm’lan where he licked the deep gash spanning Mestor’s abdomen.

  Then, to his astonishment, Sohm’lan began to glow. Not only did his eyes brighten into blue suns, but his brown scales mirrored Mestor’s, appearing as if a fire burned beneath the surface. The glow intensified until the light of the room was eclipsed by Sohm’lan’s prismatic shining. Sohm’lan slipped his hand up Mestor’s chest, claws scraping over his scales as Sohm’lan forced him to uncurl, pushing him flat against the mound of pillows. He was entranced as Sohm’lan slowly licked at the wound, his glowing eyes looking up Mestor’s body. The expression of carnal appreciation Sohm’lan wore said he more than liked what he saw.

  As he licked, he used his claws to tear through the stitches, and Mestor was unafraid. He trusted Sohm’lan with his life, with his body, so he did not protest as Sohm’lan undid Mayra’s careful handiwork. The hand over his heart grew warmer, almost too hot for him to bear. With the stitches removed, the wound gaped, and blood immediately welled up. Sohm’lan locked his mouth over the lower part and sucked, as if he was drawing poison out. The slight pain did not cause his aching erection to flag. Mestor would have writhed at the blending of pleasure and pain, but Sohm’lan’s hold on his upper torso kept him in place.

  The room… the air grew too hot. He panted between the moans Sohm’lan’s mouth pulled from him. Sohm’lan looked up at him, his gaze full of dark knowledge that made Mestor’s cock throb. The press of Sohm’lan’s palm against his chest burned hotter, the energy delving into his core where his internal bonfire flared, then exploded. He screamed as the sensation spread like molten lava to his limbs. Sohm’lan’s glow filled the room, causing dark shapes to dance on the walls. Inexplicably, Mestor shone with his own radiance. First, under Sohm’lan’s hand, then the light spread over his scales with each pull of Sohm’lan’s mouth until his light joined Sohm’lan’s.

  Poseidon’s balls! What was happening to them? Mestor’s scales pulled so tight that it almost hurt. The sound of waves crashing against a rocky shore filled his ears. He could taste salty air on his tongue. The heady scent of Sohm’lan’s pheromones, virile and wholly masculine, told him that he was not the only one needing release.

  He reached down to wrap his fingers around his erection only for Sohm’lan to knock his hand aside. Mestor whimpered and he closed his eyes against the blinding light spilling from his and Sohm’lan’s bodies. When fingers wrapped around his length, Mestor’s breath left him in a rush. The heat spilling into him was more concentrated under Sohm’lan’s palm, the touch threatening to burn the unprotected skin of Mestor’s penis. Then Sohm’lan slowly pumped his hand over the length and Mestor screamed again. It was as if Sohm’lan held a string that was buried in Mestor’s core and with each upward glide of his hand, the cord pulled taut. The sensation hurt. The pain almost, but not quite, eclipsed the intense pleasure of being stroked. When Sohm’lan’s teeth sunk into his scales, he bowed off the mattress then spilled his seed over his abdomen. Wave after wave of heat pushed through him. He could almost believe he stood in the center of Inferno, Atlainticia’s largest volcano.

  With each molten swell of energy, Mestor cried out, again and again, only opening his eyes when another voice joined his. Sohm’lan gripped his hip with one hand to keep him place, while the other held Mestor’s pulsing cock as semen painted them. Their combined glow was so bright his eyes stung with tears.

  Sohm’lan circled his hips and thrust against the flat underside of Mestor’s tail, bellowing again, as if he were being split asunder. Mestor’s ears popped from unseen pressure right as Sohm’lan tore himself away, rolling to the side, their heaving breaths still in sync.

  “What in hellion was that?” Mestor rasped between gasps.

  He and Sohm’lan still glowed but were steadily dimming. Mestor blinked several times, the loss of the brilliance leaving behind a sort of blindness, causing the normal light in the room to seem lackluster and dim.

  “I would like to know the answer to that question as well.” Azaes stood in the doorway to Mestor’s sleeping chamber, only wearing a blue robe and an expression that hinted he was jealous. “My healing was nothing like that.”

  Sohm’lan snarled, his sudden rage almost palpable as he rolled off the sleeping platform and stormed past Azaes.

  Mestor hissed at his brother, wanting to go after Sohm’lan, terrified that a summer of slow wooing had been undone. Would this cause him to lose the chance of calling Sohm’lan his? The knowing did not flare so he remained where he was. His body was heavy, as if he lay on the ocean floor with leagues of water holding him down. When he did not hear the door to the main cabin open, he relaxed, but only slightly. He ached but not in a bad way. When he touched the place where Nethus had sliced him open, he found no wound, not even a raised scar. Glancing down his body, he was surprised. His scales did not look as if he had been flayed open. Instead, he had a bite scar. Mestor remembered Sohm’lan sinking his teeth into him, causing him to come. The mark was a stamp of belonging, of claiming, and Mestor traced the outline with a bit of awe and trepidation.

  Did Sohm’lan mean to give him the mark? Somehow, he thought Sohm’lan was unaware of what he had done. Though the scar brought him great joy, he covered it with his hand when Sohm’lan returned fully dressed and carrying a warm, wet cloth and a dry towel. They both ignored Azaes, who moved to sit in the chair closest to Mestor’s sleeping platform. He accepted the cloth, watching Sohm’lan’s expression for some sign, something to tell him how he felt about what happened. But he was met with Sohm’lan’s blank, professional mask, all his thoughts and feelings hidden once more.

  He did not know what to do, other than give Sohm’lan an excuse to run. “I will clean up. Azaes can help. Zeus and Dargon will be arriving soon for first-meal and the vidcall with Father.”

  “As you wish, Your Highness.” Sohm’lan turned and left, not noticing the way Mestor grimaced at the return of formality. When the door to the cabin swished shut, Mestor let out a breath.

  “You want to tell me what happened?” Azaes asked, slouching forward against the chair’s chest rest.

  “No. Yes. I do not know.” Vivid images played over and over in his mind. He was not concerned with how or why they had glowed. No, Mestor only wondered when he could get Sohm’lan in his sleeping platform again.

  Chapter Six

  Mestor

  * * *

  Mestor followed Azaes’ lead from the state roo
m, sensing Sohm’lan close behind them. The discussion at first-meal was full of revelations and information. Mestor’s emotions fluctuated wildly, going from anger over the Chtichlians’ treatment of Zeus, to elation over the kits—the twins—Dargon and Alpha carried. Between the fight they’d had in the Dream and Sohm’lan’s arousing healing bringing him to completion twice in quick succession… Mestor felt physically drained, and the morning was not even half over.

  Now, they needed to prepare for the stop at Qestaire, so Azaes invited him and Sohm’lan to join him in the privacy of his cabin.

  “We are going to be in conference for several hours,” Azaes told the Elite Honor Guard stationed outside his room. “Please let the lieutenants know we are not to be interrupted, unless it is an emergency, and tell the kitchen to deliver a midday meal for three to my rooms.”

  After Azaes received the guards’ confirmation, he opened the door to his quarters. All the while, Mestor struggled to pretend this was just any other day and that he was not constantly thinking of ways to get a repeat of this morning, without the open wounds, of course.

  Crossing to the center of the room, he struggled to control his body. He, Azaes, Sohm’lan, and the Monticore had escaped the State Room after the vidcall, chased out by the pheromones that both Zeus and Dargon were exuding. As a newly mated pair, such occurrences often happened. If Mestor did not calm his thoughts, he would only add another awkward situation to the day. He would not only fill the room with his own pheromones, but his sex would release from its sheath. The cut of the uniform pants would only accentuate his problem instead of hiding it. Though it would be difficult, he needed to put this morning from his mind until he was in a more private setting.