A Swithin Spin: A Princely Passion

by Sharon Maria Bidwell

  Antal’s head traversed, sinking down, forward, resting against his chest. Possibly he’d closed his eyes once more. His body eased down that rigid member. Kilan didn’t know how, but he couldn’t deny what he saw. Antal took the last of that solid length deep into himself, and Kilan bit his own fist.

  Fuck! He wanted to go down there. He wanted to drag Antal off that statue. He wanted to sink into him. Whereas a few moments ago he’d felt overwhelmed, lost in confused sensations and needs, now his desires had their true focus. He wanted Antal, not for a lifetime, or even a week, but definitely a day or a night. Maybe a day and a night, maybe even several, but he wanted him. He wanted to fuck him, both of them laughing while he did so. Today wasn’t that day. Not only would Antal be furious if he discovered that Kilan had followed him here, but the guard clearly didn’t feel in the mood to spend time with another person. That was why he’d sought out the statue and was trying the ritual in the first place.

  It’s just a little amusement. It doesn’t mean anything. Ryanac wasn’t suggesting this would solve things, and I know it won’t, so what does it matter? He just wants me to lighten up. Once I would have laughed over this. I’m young, and this is something I can laugh about. It’s just a little fun…

  Antal lost the thought on a gasp. It had been a while, and it hurt. Not too much; he could hardly call himself a virgin in these matters, but the statue’s member by its very nature had no give, and it… Oh, it made that obvious. Antal closed his eyes, at once thinking this was a bad idea even as that hardness eased into him. The discomfort grew, and Antal shook his head. The pressure kept the underlying pleasure at bay. This wasn’t going to work. He had to stop.

  He’d made up his mind to do just that when, moving to pull off, he teetered a little. Antal’s eyes opened wide. Oh by the comet, he’d better be careful. If he slipped by accident, he could very well injure himself, and it was one thing to impale himself deliberately, quite another to rip his body apart in error.

  Pausing, Antal became aware that the pain subsided. Tentatively, knowing that he couldn’t maintain this position without trembling, he made the decision to settle down a little more. Easing one leg back and then pausing to assess how that felt, he changed his mind about giving up. He eased back his second leg, and there at last he felt comfortable. He could pull off with no problem by lifting up and leaning forward, or he could…

  Sink.

  Antal swallowed, took a deep breath, paid attention to the pleasure beginning to ease through his body…and went down.

  The pleasure stopped easing. It zinged. Antal gasped, throwing back his head yet again, staring unfocused into the sky. Oh by the comet, from what had they created this thing?

  “You don’t want to go through life never having touched that thing.” Yet again Ryanac’s words returned to haunt him. Yes, but when he’d said that, he hadn’t just meant running your hand over it. Antal now understood the underlying wink that emphasized those words. Maybe Ryanac hadn’t done this, or maybe he had and he’d lied, but he had known it would feel incredible. A few uncharitable thoughts ran through Antal’s mind, and then he ceased to think, sinking down farther, losing his mind on a moan. He grew vaguely aware that he’d closed his eyes and his head had fallen forward so that his chin rested against his chest, but otherwise he stopped thinking of himself as a being, breathing, alive. He was a straining bunch of muscles that quivered inside.

  Smooth, so smooth. Other phrases slipped through his mind such as silken ice, for the stone was cold. Even as he entertained the thought, the cold stone stole the heat from his body. At the same time, that internal part of his body felt so hot, the phallus grew warm inside him. Still, Antal sank. His body opened. His mind wavered. He forgot all his worries. Time grew still, suspended.

  Blinking, Antal looked around him. He didn’t know how much time had passed, but he focused on the feeling of fullness, of being complete. Unexpectedly, his blinking released tears. When had he last felt like this with a living being?

  He wanted to laugh, but did so only inwardly at his own melancholy. He was thinking like some aged fool who had never known love. He knew love in all its forms, and one day he’d marry, although whoever became part of Antal’s life would have to understand that a large part of his existence meant duty, meant time outside of the family, meant long hours of work, which also meant long hours of being someone’s shadow, looking out for the safety of others. Even so, enough Sonndre married to knock that reservation on the head. No. This was his uncertainty, not his imaginary lover’s concern. He just didn’t like the idea, so the problem was less finding someone to put up with the situation than his being happy about it. Why was he suddenly thinking, facing unpleasant truths?

  Once more Antal laughed, this time a small sound escaping his lips. What use bemoaning a situation that hadn’t even arisen? He’d not fallen in love. He had no lover, and if anyone was to see him poised like this, just a couple of inches short of impalement, then they’d laugh too hard to ever hear him propose marriage. He had to put an end to this foolishness, but pushing forward to ease off reminded him why his mind had closed down. The texture of that marvelous weapon shivered through him. He’d never imagined so addressing a cock as a weapon before, but this bludgeon was decidedly dangerous. It stole all his reason.

  He sank. He rose.

  Oh, comet, help me.

  Even as he hovered, undecided, Antal accepted that part of the overwhelming pleasure came from abstinence. It had been a long time, too long, truly, for one of his age with so much joy in his life. He’d done so much growing up in such a short time, but if this was what it felt like to grow old, then he wanted nothing to do with it. Perhaps there was something to be said for Ryanac’s attitude, something worth following in Ryanac’s suggestion to perform this ritual. Trying not to giggle, Antal wiped at his eyes, surprised to find how wet they were. He might as well try the ceremony. To do so, he needed to sit.

  Antal turned his mind to lowering his body. He didn’t find sinking down difficult. Indeed, it struck him as almost too easy. That unyielding cock wanted to spear into him. He shouldn’t attribute such sentient desires to an inanimate object, but the idea struck him as true. He moved down, and that lance pierced him. One part of him had opened, but finally he reached a point where he knew that for him to sit, a second ring of muscle had to give. Steadying his posture, taking deep, calming breaths, he concentrated on making his body relax. Pressure built, popped, and he almost jumped at the shock of that deeper penetration. Now all he had to do was ease his legs into a crossed-legged position.

  In truth, he found that easier than he’d imagined. The statue’s body braced him, supported him now. There was only one surprise left for him as he eased into position. He’d thought that fabulous cock could go no deeper.

  He was mistaken.

  Chapter Seven

  Kilan sighed. Now that Antal had settled into place and appeared to slip into a meditative state, the fact that he was hiding up in a tree struck Kilan as foolish. He’d found it an intense experience to watch Antal succumb to desire and impale that lovely behind. Kilan felt aroused even now to think of that hardness, that fullness inside. He didn’t know what that felt like. Kilan was one for giving, not receiving, but he’d had more than one young man under him begging. He loved opening them up to his invasion as much as he loved sinking into a woman. No reason why he shouldn’t. He was young. The Swithin took lovers of either sex, so until he settled down, he could indulge. He only wished he could indulge with Antal. His body ached with the idea. His mind felt as if it might explode with the thought. He could do nothing about either discomfort. He wanted, and he couldn’t have what he wanted. Not immediately. Not even today. Antal sat, meditating, so now Kilan’s mind focused on how raw his throat felt. He swallowed, needing a drink.

  He glanced downward, and at once the realization that his pack lay on the ground, a long way down, out of his reach, made his thirst grow. It pushed his other desires into the background. Ki
lan didn’t know whether to feel grateful or give way to despair. His need to drink lessened the pressure of his erection and dulled the ache in his testicles, but he didn’t know how long Antal would undertake the ritual. Kilan couldn’t climb all the way down without making at least some noise. He was stuck, extremely uncomfortable, hungry, and thirsty. He couldn’t descend without risking discovery. He couldn’t do anything until Antal finished and returned to the cave.

  Bringing his arm around, Kilan lowered his head onto his forearm. For the first time in a long time, he could have cried, and he put it all down to his own proclivity for acting without considering all the possible consequences.

  How long had he struggled?

  Odd, that thought coming to him like this when Antal didn’t know how long he’d sat there, unable to think. Part of the reason that his mind had remained so blissfully blank -- clean, actually -- was the steadfast solidity within him. His heart beat, his body pulsed, and he could feel that pulse perhaps in the most intimate part of him as it hammered around an unforgiving erection. He felt at once part of his body and yet aware of his existence, almost as though they were separate entities.

  The instructions said one could continue the ritual afterward, seeking this deep act of consciousness without the statue. The preparation began the same way, instructing the person to seek a comfortable position. Mentally, Antal chuckled. He definitely felt comfortable, though at the same time perversely suffering some pleasurable discomfort. He’d closed his eyes as instructed. He’d concentrated on his breathing, although this had proved difficult. Skewered as he was, his heart had wanted to race, turn his breathing ragged. Calming his heart and his breathing to an even pace had taken a great deal of time and patience on his part. To do so had also required resilience and determination; never before had Antal considered the idea that he’d feel gratitude for his academy training in this type of situation. The same fortitude that would serve him on the battlefield served him here. He’d thought sex with an inanimate object would feel passive, but this experience was all about control, of learning to use control but in another way. Several times he’d had to concentrate just to maintain his steady breathing. While he sat there, the day had grown older. Although he felt warm enough, Antal suspected much of that heat came from an internal fire. Now a cooler wind breathed over him. Perhaps this was what brought him up from the trance, for trance it was; he had no doubt about that.

  He focused his thoughts and emotions internally, listening, feeling his heart pump blood throughout his body, carrying what his body needed in order to function around his system, feeding, healing. Unable to deny the underlying tension within him, Antal tried to turn his mind from all intrusions. His body beat, clenched around the undeniable obstacle, but the rest of his body slowly began to relax. He turned his attention inward. He concentrated on contracting each muscle, then releasing it, letting his limbs slowly slump, become supple. As he did so, he was supposed to connect to his surroundings, channeling that energy into his muscles. Although Antal struggled, gradually inner warmth seeped through him. The glade certainly seemed peaceful, tranquil even. Whatever the reason, he sensed energy here. Whether that was natural, caused by the statue, the comet, or his imagination, Antal had no idea. It occurred to him that as the Swithin fashioned adult toys from certain types of crystal that vibrated, perhaps someone had carved the statue from rock containing similar properties. It made sense and explained the peculiar, persistent idea that the rigid figure somehow contained life.

  Peace. The word sang through his mind, through his being. He didn’t understand it, how he had come to this moment. A small frown tightened his brow, but then Antal simply let the concern slip away. His worries hadn’t left him. When he arose from this state, his problems would still exist, his unrest. Right now none of that mattered. Right now he could set everything aside and enjoy this moment. Aware he hovered on the edge of sleep, Antal just lingered there. He didn’t try for wakefulness, and he didn’t try to slip deeper.

  Speaking of deeper… That was part of the reason he couldn’t go under. If not for the hardness within him, he might have easily slept, but he didn’t. He couldn’t. Even so, this felt more healing than the deepest sleep. Later he would sleep, and he felt sure he would wake refreshed. Even now, he felt renewed. Tomorrow… Tomorrow he would return home, and although the same responsibilities and problems awaited him, Antal sensed he could face those things with a more relaxed state of mind. If this was what meditation did for you, then he’d take it up regularly.

  Antal gave himself a mental shake. No. It couldn’t be that simple. One experience of a meditative state did not cure your anxieties. Maybe with practice, meditation could help him to face his concerns, but something was wrong here. For one thing, his thoughts raced, but even as they did, he no longer sensed the underlying panic that usually came when his mind wandered in such a fashion. His mind remained clear and clean, analytical. Yet he felt more aware of his body than he had for ages. He felt his consciousness and the body it inhabited as separate entities, yet as one, in perfect unison. He wasn’t in control here. The thought came, sudden and devastating. He couldn’t explain it, but in the moment he’d connected with the statue, the…statue was in control, not him. The effigy caused this sense of peace. He didn’t know how, but he knew the truth of it even as his ensuing moment of resistance faded in defeat. He couldn’t fight this.

  A brief moment of panic engulfed him, then fled so quickly he almost put it down to his imagination. It left behind certainty. He didn’t know what properties the statue possessed, but they affected his emotions. His connection to it -- as intimate as it was and maybe even precisely because of that intimacy -- had helped produce this condition.

  Antal sought that connection. At once that intimate part of his body tried to close, but that proved impossible. The resulting squeeze made him gasp. His heartbeat increased. Despite the overall feeling of serenity, his body responded the way it knew best. His body spasmed, and his skin came alive.

  How fucking long would this take? Kilan glared across the clearing at Antal with less than charitable thoughts, definitely less than loving ones. He didn’t know what he’d pictured happening exactly, but once Antal had stopped hesitating and finally climbed onto the figure, things had become interesting, at least. Since then Antal had sat there for what seemed like hours. It wasn’t hours -- Kilan could tell by the passage of the sun across the sky -- but it felt long enough. How long could one sit on an intrusion of that magnitude, anyway?

  The little twitches, muscles tightening and then relaxing throughout Antal’s body, and the variety of expressions that played over his face were all very entertaining but hardly worth watching when you took into account that Kilan’s perch had grown decidedly uncomfortable. Added to that, his muscles had started to cramp.

  Shifting yet again, Kilan almost groaned aloud. For some reason, lessening the pressure of where he lay reminded him that he suffered other discomforts. His thirst burned his throat mercilessly. He was about to give up and risk discovery as he made his way down the tree when something about Antal’s posture captured his attention.

  Although the young guard just sat there, something had changed. Kilan couldn’t figure out what it could possibly be, but he trusted his intuition. Where before Antal had seemed a thing apart, mostly as silent and motionless as the statue itself, something about his bearing now suggested awareness. One could only describe the young man’s expression as thoughtful.

  Kilan almost sighed, wishing he understood the meaning of this ritual. He very much wanted to know if Antal experienced something divine. Ryanac would sneer, saying Kilan lacked a spiritual side to his nature. That wasn’t true. He just never paid any attention to it. He pushed such emotions aside whenever possible. Contemplation was for the old, or so he’d always assumed. Assumed? No. Wanted to believe was more like it. He wanted to remain young at heart as long as possible. The thought of growing up too swiftly always panicked him. He even knew why. When knowi
ng you could access an incredible mystical power and that with such a power came a world of responsibility, who would want to grow up and face that? Ryanac said he was grateful that Markis had full control of the comet because Markis was the only man he trusted with it. Kilan was grateful for more selfish reasons. When he had said he wanted Markis to let him grow up, that wasn’t what he’d truly meant; he’d meant he wanted freedom, and royalty never truly had that.

  He arose from his thoughts with some surprise, confused. He’d heard a noise, but it took him a moment to decipher it. Antal had gasped, and the glade being so peaceful, almost breathless with silence, had carried that sound easily. It served to remind Kilan that he could never climb down quietly, especially in his present condition. Even with the comet shielding him, the sound would carry.

  Was he mind and body, or mind, body, and spirit? He didn’t know, but he soared. Something released and filled Antal’s mind with thoughts and memories of those he loved, all the good times he’d shared with others. It felt as if someone wanted to pick apart his memories, force him to relive them, yet he experienced no malice. He resisted for one brief moment, and then took the journey with the…statue?

  The idea failed to matter. He came back to himself, alive with his life up until this point. The ensuing joy left no room for worry or for pain. His mind once more turned to his body, knowing it would one day cease to exist and yet continue to exist as all things did, in another state of being, even if that were as spirit or as stardust as many Swithin believed. You couldn’t fight the inevitable, so he took joy in the moment. As that bright spark of pain illuminated his mind, he ceased to worry about it. He’d almost died, yet he lived. He might not be able to protect everyone, but that didn’t make those he saved any less grateful. Life existed here in this moment. He could feel it. He was part of the glade, of the world, of the universe. Life!