After more than an hour of searching, Kilan admitted defeat. He’d begun to sweat, and his feet ached. Just what had he hoped to gain gallivanting after Antal, anyway? What did it matter if the young guard felt pensive?
Kilan tried to tell himself he just felt concerned for the young man, but while that was true, it wasn’t the only reason. He simply couldn’t understand his wish to know Antal on a friendlier basis, not that a man could ever have enough friends; but clearly Antal had problems to deal with, and Kilan had more than enough of those. He certainly didn’t need to take on anyone else’s. Someone should, though. Someone should care that Antal evidently felt unhappy. Antal deserved to have others…someone who cared.
Meaning you don’t?
That was so not funny. Kilan swallowed, forcing back the preposterous self-pity. If this was the extent of his abilities to take care of himself, then he should leave Antal alone to work out his own problems; Kilan’s proclivities seemed to suggest he’d make them worse. The generous thought was a complete waste of mental acuity; he’d never learned to leave well alone.
Leaning against the side of a building, Kilan surveyed the street. The hour grew late. Many people would be having fun into the early hours -- those working to entertain, to serve food and drink, and those partaking of such pleasures -- but the roads had started to clear. There were also those who needed to work late, although Kilan couldn’t imagine choosing such jobs. He liked to rise late, work hard and fast during the day, celebrate the evening just as hard and fast, and then sink into bed some time after midnight. Markis said he would grow out of such things, but Kilan could no more imagine that than he could work out where Antal had disappeared to.
He liked Antal. The young guard was easy to like: handsome, usually humorous, skilled, quick-witted -- Kilan could name a whole list of likeable attributes. Despite his teasing, Kilan took no pleasure in the fact that something obviously bothered the man. If staying away helped Antal, then he’d stay away, but he didn’t think his presence made much of a difference, and he felt a little sorry for that.
He wasn’t the only one to admire Antal. Many people looked up to him. For those feelings to ripen into something more…affectionate, even amorous, hardly surprised him. Occasionally self-aware enough to accept that he couldn’t let go of an idea or a feeling once it insinuated itself under his skin, Kilan wasn’t at all shocked to find himself out on the streets trying to track Antal down. What surprised him was the simple fact that nothing else had been able to distract him from his pursuit. Chasing someone down was precisely the sort of thing he would do, but if it had been anyone else, he would have soon tired of the game. He hated that he couldn’t let this go, especially as he felt uncertain what it was. He didn’t entirely understand his feelings.
Or maybe I don’t want to.
Shaking the unwanted thought off, Kilan swallowed. By the comet, how he wished he’d stopped in one of the taverns for a jug of cool ale. Right now, he’d happily drink water, but he felt pensive enough to long for alcohol to take the edge off his frustration. He was suddenly a seething ball of frustrated energy, aggravated over his feelings, over his failure to grasp the true depth of what currently ate away at him. Was that how Antal felt? If so, for once in their lives, they truly shared something in common. Kilan was used to coping with unruly feelings. He couldn’t imagine Antal suffering from such lack of control. He hoped Ryanac could resolve whatever ailed Antal, but until the young guard found a solution, Kilan had every reason to worry over what had become of him this night. He just wanted to make sure Antal was all right.
“He’s fine,” Kilan murmured. As a way of convincing himself, it worked poorly, but he hated feeling this helpless. If there was some way he could locate Antal, he would gladly use it.
Kilan blinked. “Stupid!” he said somewhat forcefully. A woman passing by turned her wide-eyed gaze on him. “Not you,” he explained, pushing away from the building and hurrying farther along the street. Heading out, Kilan took himself into the fields. Huffing and puffing his way to the top of a hillock, he gazed back down. At his back lay a dark frame of trees like sentries. Before him, a small portion of the city spread out, a sea of terracotta roofs dissected with pinpoints of light: lanterns twinkling at windows and avenues. Drawing in a deep breath, Kilan opened the part of him that contained the comet.
At once he could tell Markis knew he’d accessed the power. He could do nothing about that. No doubt Markis would want an explanation. He tried to send out peace, keep everything serene. He could sense Markis’s curiosity, but nothing else. His brother wasn’t exactly angry with him, but he would ask questions come morning. Kilan would just have to come up with a plausible reason. Tonight he turned his mind to searching the town. He reached out not with a hand but with the comet.
This was one of the first exercises he’d learned well. He filled his mind with Antal’s image and then closed his eyes, recalling Antal’s smell. Although some would have found that peculiar, everyone had a scent. Dogs used it to track. The comet worked like a dog right now, seeking out Antal’s attributes: his color, his texture, his shape, and his scent. The comet rushed over the Swithin, bypassing them, moving in, and closing down, until suddenly there…nothing. Kilan frowned. An empty space lay where the comet hesitated. Then the shape fell inward, only coming to a halt when the seemingly empty space finally filled out, developing into the outline of a man. Antal’s presence filled the void, and Kilan let go of the comet and opened his eyes. He knew where Antal was and what he was doing. Surprise made Kilan hesitate, but as always with the young prince, curiosity won out.
* * *
Antal moved through the forms, sword whipping from side to side. His mind separated, almost as though he had become two separate beings. One part of him concentrated on the sword only, focused only on movement. The other part was far more analytical and externally alert. As if he was a spectator rather than the one spinning the weapon, Antal studied his movements, chastising a faltering move, thinking how he could come out of the rotation into a thrust, placing more effort behind the advance without losing his balance in the shift. Although already an excellent swordsman, such training was something one never truly completed. He would practice to improve throughout his life, and should he ever reach the unlikely stage where he believed he had nothing more to learn, he would seek someone to teach him something he didn’t know. Failing that, he would work like this to remain supple and as talented with the sword as he was today.
Antal stepped forward, spun, thrusting in what would be a killing blow. Turning the other way, he imagined someone moving against him with a sword and a raised shield. He couldn’t perform the same move against this invisible opponent, so he turned the sword, aiming to fight with a strike, a motion that used the flat of the blade rather than the edge. Usually one would aim for an opponent’s body, but this time he used it to block, visualizing the sweep of an imaginary weapon. The methodical part of his mind conceded his choice was the right one. If he’d dropped to take out the man’s legs as he’d considered doing, the long sword -- the chosen weapon Antal’s imaginary opponent fought with -- could have sliced through his head. Antal knocked the make-believe weapon to the side. Its weight would hamper a quick recovery. He quickly turned his strike to one of Ryanac’s favorite moves: that of “traveling,” which involved dealing out several quick successive blows, forcing the enemy back.
Kilan watched from above, a smile blossoming over his face. Antal had retreated to the practice area. No one would usually train here at this time of night. Clearly, Antal sought solitude.
Although Kilan preferred women, he couldn’t help but admire the way Antal fought. The way he moved, letting his sword swing with full force, Kilan could almost believe Antal actually faced an invisible opponent. Unsurprisingly, he’d circled his long braid of hair around his neck, for if he caught it with the sword, he might shear a few of his auburn locks, and that would definitely have been a pity. Of course, in a true battle he would have pinne
d it out of the way so no one could use it to strangle him. Antal fought half-naked, displaying the young man’s fine form -- form with the sword and a healthy, attractive body to match. Kilan couldn’t recall that bulk of arm muscle being present the last time he had seen Antal so dressed, or more accurately, undressed. Neither could he recall the muscle defining the man’s ribs and stomach. His gaze slid over Antal’s body to his face. Kilan couldn’t help smiling in enjoyment. Antal’s lean chest glistened with sweat. Kilan could see that even from his position on the top balcony.
Beneath the higher gallery where Kilan stood, a secondary tier was for trainers to stand out of harm’s way. When a teacher fought as the enemy and took part in the battle, that was all well and good, but when two men sparred and the teacher tried to remain in the ring to arbitrate, many had caught an unexpected blow from too zealous a student. Kilan had considered the lower level for a better view, but he’d chosen the uppermost tier because he was hiding. He couldn’t help running scenarios through his mind as to Antal’s reaction should he realize he was being observed. His thoughts were similar to those he’d experienced the other day, but the stakes were definitely higher. Antal wouldn’t be pleased, so Kilan had chosen the highest point in the arena, usually reserved for friends and relatives by invitation only. As much as part of him longed for discovery, that sharp, fast-rotating blade defied even his courage.
As to why discovery might be a good thing… Antal was always in control, confronting daily crises with equanimity. Lately his composure wavered, and Kilan wanted to push Antal to breaking point. Maybe that was what he needed -- to be pushed, not indulged or protected. Not that Kilan’s motives were entirely unselfish. Looking at Antal now, face set, determined, he couldn’t help thinking what it would feel like to see that determined gaze turned on him. At this present moment the reality would likely be far removed from his dreams. Perversely, Antal represented everything Kilan hated and yet longed to be: skilled, respected, a born leader. He disliked seeing Antal upset, but he equally enjoyed it. He didn’t know how that was possible, no matter how true. He wanted to cure Antal’s problems, but before that he wanted to exacerbate them. Why not when it was what he was good at, after all: aggravating people and irritating them, disobeying! He wanted Antal’s annoyed glare to shine on him; he wanted to stand up to it…and then…then he didn’t know. He wanted a fight, or he wanted them to take out their frustrations in other ways. If he was going to face the truth, that was the scenario that played out most in his mind. He could picture them scuffling in the dirt, soon to grasp, rend clothing, Antal defensive even as Kilan pushed into him. Then spent, their frustration taken out on each other… Well, what might happen then, he simply couldn’t envision. He couldn’t imagine anything past the sex.
Kilan edged a little around one of the supporting columns that upheld the roof. No matter how he longed for an altercation, he couldn’t risk Antal seeing him, and his dark garb stood out too well against the white marble pillar. He closed his eyes, still imagining what might happen should Antal spot him. Would he race up the stairs or stalk out of the circle in disgust? If Antal chose to confront Kilan, what would he do? Would he run him through with the sword? That seemed doubtful, but right now Antal appeared so focused, so lost in the well-rehearsed moves of a swordsman that maybe, just maybe, he wouldn’t be able to draw out from his almost trancelike state. Perversely, the thought of real danger gave Kilan an additional thrill, added spice to the spectacle of Antal spinning and twirling. Only as Kilan licked the salty taste of perspiration from his upper lip did he realize he’d opened his eyes again. He gazed intently at the figure below. His heart hammered. His cock throbbed. Falling back once more, Kilan only realized he’d released his erection when he felt the hot, solid length in his palm. What was he thinking?
Even as he wondered, he questioned why he was wondering, why he was examining his reaction. Watching the show and then seeing an attractive, healthy young man…performing so well, why shouldn’t he feel a little aroused? He just needed a little easement; that was all. He slowed his actions when his fondling became a little too eager for his liking, shocking him. He couldn’t say he wanted a relationship with Antal, just sex -- vigorous, aggressive sex, something worthy of venting all their negative emotions on, maybe, but just sex all the same.
With less hurried movements, Kilan stroked up and down his length, massaging and caressing the swollen head. He directed both his gaze and thoughts to Antal.
Unskilled with the sword compared to Antal, if the guard did threaten him, he’d have to call the comet. Although Markis had taught him basic defense, he couldn’t help wondering if he’d manage to hold Antal back, especially without hurting him. Just as well he didn’t have to worry; he didn’t really believe Antal would attack him. The young man had enough presence of mind to draw himself back from the precipice of doing something so horrendous and foolish no matter how disconnected from the world he seemed right now. Nevertheless, Kilan entertained the idea that Antal would make him pay some other way. He’d do something to humiliate even a prince who spied on him. Maybe he’d tan the hide off him in public, with the comet Kilan’s only defense. Defense enough for anyone if he could bring himself to draw on it. The trouble was, for him, calling the comet required a certain level of serenity. He felt anything but serene. The fact that he found the very idea of Antal having the upper hand far too enticing further complicated the situation.
Kilan blinked. He’d never felt that way before, but the urge to deny the feeling was fleeting. Kilan grinned. He didn’t know why, but he finally acknowledged that he wanted to drive Antal crazy. The young man seemed too easy to infuriate right now, a fact so unlike him. For some reason, Kilan enjoyed it. The temptation to step out from behind the column, to stand in plain view, and to tease Antal into turning all that suppressed fury onto him felt almost too strong to deny.
Common sense kept him in hiding. That and the decision that he needed to analyze his own feelings before he provoked Antal to…whatever he wanted to provoke him into doing, even if it amounted to just sex. No one else could decide that for him. Kilan needed a little more time and somewhere more private to work out his feelings for Antal. For now he felt happy just to watch.
Antal shifted, darted to one side, in, moving so lightly that for one moment he appeared not to touch the ground. An anguished growl accompanied a vicious thrust backward. The sound made Kilan glad he’d chosen not to reveal his presence, but it couldn’t stop his mind from wandering back to the question of what Antal would do. What would he do if not so angry, if he was more like the Antal everyone knew and loved? What would he do if he knew Kilan stood there watching him? Would he reveal his own erect cock? Kilan just knew it would be beautiful, thick, with a purpling head, shiny with his initial secretions. Would Antal further lubricate his cock by spitting into his hand and then stand there masturbating as if it was the only natural choice in the world? Kilan imagined watching him and had to slap his free hand over his mouth to stifle his gasps even though he doubted Antal could hear any sound over his own heavy breathing and grunts.
Below, Antal spun again, then again, the increasing speed making Kilan giddy, and not entirely in a good way. His hand moved in rhythm to Antal’s spinning. He was stroking himself, hard! He felt sure he would climax any moment. No. Not now. Not yet.
He wasn’t finished watching. Antal moved so fast that Kilan couldn’t keep up with the flow of titles for all the forms he used. Amazingly, the display exhilarated him.
Parry. He imagined Antal stroking his long, erect penis.
Spin. He imagined Antal moaning and had to bite his lips together to stop his own groan escaping.
Cut. He imagined leaning over Antal, rubbing his cock against him, with Antal masturbating all the while. He would straddle him, rub their cocks together, and then work his way up that beautiful body. Would Antal open his mouth, stick out his tongue? Would he lick?
Strike. Would he get down on all fours? Would he expose that most
intimate rosette? Would he beg for…penetration?
Kilan increased his speed as Antal became a blur of motion. The prince imagined rubbing his cock against that opening even as he rubbed himself closer to climax.
Withdraw. Would they kiss?
Kilan blinked. Up until that thought his fantasy had limited focus, although one might have felt surprised to hear him say so. The thought of kissing Antal made Kilan think of more than sex. Kissing meant emotion. The real question was, what did a kiss mean to him? What would it mean if he and Antal kissed?
Thrust. Nothing. Just sex. Kilan bit back his frustration. It was the play. It was the fantasy. Nothing wrong with a little fantasy, but he shouldn’t let it get the better of him. His imagined scenario was about sharing frustrations, not feelings. Watching the dance of motion that was Antal, Kilan imagined his fingers prizing apart that twitching, eager orifice, plunging deep. He could even feel the pulsing, but then realized it was his own dick he could feel throbbing in his hand. He chose fantasy. Fingers buried, he reached around, and his dick became Antal’s cock, hot, pulsing. Stroking, fondling, rubbing… Bliss!
The pleasure built, shooting through him and flooding out over his hand. It felt as if more than his cock and balls spasmed. In the throes of orgasm, his whole body zinged. The sensation forced his eyes closed until the sweet pulsing ebbed.
Blinking, making a slow return to reality, a wild giggling threatened as he cleaned up and tucked himself back in his breeches. He was the best… What? The best secret masturbator? He searched for a suitable word to describe what he had just done and failed. A growing awareness of the reality of his actions soured the joy he’d experienced. Kilan had always accepted that no one could call him the best student or the best swordsman, but being good with his hand in other ways was hardly something to boast of. In truth, he had his position, and one day he’d have use of the comet. Without those things…what was he?
A Swithin Spin: A Princely Passion Page 4
