A Swithin Spin: A Princely Passion

by Sharon Maria Bidwell

  The statue speared into him. The penetration connected his mind to his body, undeniable. At once he pictured the statue lying under him, on its back, lying in the midst of the perfect scenery. The wind blew, making him shiver. He heard leaves rustle. He would soon open his eyes and rise up. He would have to. Hidden muscles fluttered. His testicles tightened. Oh no. Not now. Not yet. He didn’t know if his body would heed the plea. He didn’t know how long he’d sat there, but at last the penetration proved too much. Even as he tried to calm his breath, he became aware that his body had other needs besides breathing. Oddly, even as he started to return to a more normal level of consciousness that would result in orgasm, Antal became aware of the leaves continuing to rustle, of the wind picking up, of the caw of a crow, of the splashing of the waterfall in the distance, of a mouse in the undergrowth, of…another’s heart beating.

  Kilan jolted, suddenly aware of the power within, hovering and waiting, always with him.

  Kilan acknowledged something that had bothered him all day. Here in the glade, he found it almost too easy to detect the comet. That made no sense, but even as he tried to examine the possibility, movement from the center of the clearing caught his eye. No, not movement: sensation.

  He could hear another heart beating.

  Antal opened his eyes. His vision sped through the glade as though it were a separate entity, a thing alive and apart from his body. He didn’t know how. He couldn’t explain it, but his vision flew, down from the statue, across the glade floor, into the small cluster of trees ahead, and up. Dark brown eyes widened in surprise. A cry of alarm followed a flash of recognition. Antal cursed, his vision returning to normal. It didn’t matter. He knew the identity of the spy. He could see the branches rustling as the spy climbed down. Reality returned all too quickly. Antal lost all the tranquility he’d gained, and then he climaxed, his body no longer able to contain the ravishment of having that long, white, gleaming cock buried for so long inside him.

  Even as his mind closed down, shutting out almost all thoughts but the pleasure, one part of Antal remained focused. How long had the spy been there? How much had he seen? Antal was definitely going to get hold of Kilan and teach him a lesson!

  Kilan looked to Antal’s face at the precise moment Antal opened his eyes. He didn’t know how, and the why of it hardly mattered, but he knew that Antal saw him.

  Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit!

  Kilan didn’t know how to describe the look he’d seen on Antal’s face, but he couldn’t call it friendly. His natural responses kicked in, and Kilan reacted on instinct.

  Run. Get down. Get out of the tree and flee! Despite his nerves screaming for him to obey and the fact that he was already now halfway down the tree, he paused, unable to look away as Antal poured forth his desire over the statue.

  Trapped, pinioned, Antal bowed forward, his back arched, his head lowered. Even from here, Kilan could see that Antal’s eyes squeezed shut. Even as he watched and Antal’s very handsome cock pulsed, Kilan could also see Antal’s internal struggle to return to his senses. Slowly, carefully, Antal moved from the sitting position into a kneeling one. From here, Kilan expected him to flow smoothly to his feet. He didn’t. Another tremor took him over. Antal almost flailed, and Kilan hesitated. As much as he wanted to run from Antal’s wrath, he wouldn’t leave the other man in serious trouble, and if he fell while that large member was still inside him, Antal would definitely find himself in trouble.

  Kilan had wanted to rush to his aid earlier when he’d slipped in the woods, afraid for a brief moment that the young guard had hurt himself. He couldn’t do that without making his presence known. He was glad he’d resisted the temptation to help, for he’d never have seen this. Never had he imagined witnessing such a fabulous sight. That didn’t mean he would leave him now, not until he felt certain Antal was safe, and not until he’d seen the full climax. Antal appeared to go through another orgasm or a continuation of the same one.

  Just what did Antal feel? The experience looked incredible, enviable indeed. Now was not the time for such questions. Antal gasped, moved forward, eased off. Even though he couldn’t see from this angle, Kilan felt the actual moment when Antal’s body released the statue’s phallus. Still Antal took time to recover. A shiver passed through him, visibly shaking his body, and Kilan didn’t think it was owing to the cool caress of the wind.

  “Kilan!” Antal’s angry shout got him moving again. He looked back once to see that Antal had managed to climb down from the statue, but if he could judge by the man’s stilted movements, the young guard felt shaky. He had this confirmed when Antal took a step, stumbled, took another pace, and swayed. The guard’s lips drew back over his teeth in either a snarl or a grimace. Kilan didn’t want to stick around to find out. Snatching up his pack, he raced for the trees.

  Damn him. Antal wanted to run after the whippersnapper, but his legs failed to obey. That wasn’t the only reason he hesitated. He had no time to worry about his bare feet or his naked state, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave the statue in its current condition. Silently apologizing, though feeling ridiculous even as he did, Antal snatched up his supply of water, dumped some of it over the statue, and then wiped away the evidence of his so recent pleasure…and pleasure he had most definitely felt. He could admit that much. It would have been more than pleasurable if Kilan’s presence hadn’t interrupted him and brought about such an abrupt ending. He felt sore from the penetration, but more than his muscles were stinging. He felt cross because he felt cheated of a private moment, and he resented Kilan disturbing him so thoughtlessly. Finished with wiping away his semen, Antal threw the towel on the ground and took off, first at a walk, then a trot, finally breaking into a run in the direction he’d last seen Kilan. No doubt Kilan was too far ahead or had gone into hiding, but Antal could track well enough, and even if he lost him, he’d return to the cave, dress, and then hunt the young prince down.

  He couldn’t help thinking of a number of ways he would make the prince pay.

  * * *

  “Kilan!”

  In response to his name, Kilan jumped, and spun, almost dropping the water container as he did. Fortunately, he’d just finished recapping the water skin. He’d run until the wind whistling down his throat had reminded him of his relentless thirst. He’d stopped to catch his breath and then taken a moment to savor the cool water, not thinking that Antal could possibly catch up with him in so short a time. He’d looked so unsteady. Antal wasn’t unsteady now as he eased from a run into what looked too much like stalking.

  He was still naked.

  Kilan couldn’t help himself. He took the time to cast his gaze down and then back up. If Antal noticed his open interest, he decided not to respond.

  “I’m sorry!” Kilan managed to say, although somehow the words emerged sounding more like a complaint than an apology. “I’m sorry,” Kilan repeated more softly, trying not to compound the error.

  “You will be.”

  Kilan had heard that tone before. He’d heard it at the academy, from his father, and to a lesser extent Ryanac and Markis managed to convey the same warning. They’d never hurt him though, not physically. This time he wasn’t at all sure whether, despite their being of similar size and Antal being a few years older, he faced a good hiding.

  Grabbing his pack, Kilan backpedaled, straining to maintain distance between them. Fallen trees, deep puddles of mud, and precarious slopes all served to hinder him. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”

  “What kind of fucking excuse is that?”

  Uh-oh. Antal seemed truly mad. He seldom swore. Kilan opened his mouth to say he knew not what, just hoping some sort of sensible-sounding apology would emerge, when to his surprise, Antal veered to one side. He reappeared a moment later, closer than before. He’d somehow managed to avoid an obstacle rather than go over it. It didn’t matter. A medium-sized fallen tree lay between them, and by the time Antal had scrambled over it, Kilan would be on the run again.

 
; Kilan blinked as Antal leaped. Damn but he was fit. So much for his imagining Antal scrambling over the obstruction. Poised on top of the tree, Antal paused. His braid had partly unraveled, and his hair fanned his face and body, lifted by the wind, the natural auburn catching the late rays of the sun. Fire flashed deep in his eyes and his hair.

  “You look amazing,” Kilan whispered without intending to say so aloud. Whether Antal heard him was irrelevant. Kilan’s eyes widened, and he turned on his heel as Antal bounded after him. He dodged Antal’s grasp and might have got away, for he was a good runner, had not the ground fallen out from under his feet.

  Chapter Eight

  The first thing Antal saw when he opened his eyes was a circle of daylight. He even realized that circle led to freedom. The part of his mind that said ow, I’m injured told him to close his eyes and sink back into darkness. His training took over. With awareness, the pain washed in.

  “Shit!” Considering the way his ankle felt, the exclamation seemed appropriate. At once he heard movement off to one side, but although he tried to turn his head, his neck moved stiffly.

  “You’re awake.” Kilan -- for it could only be him -- appeared as a dark shape at his side, going down on his knees.

  “No shit,” Antal grumbled.

  “I mean, I thought you were dead until I listened to you breathing. I couldn’t wake you. I tried to look for injuries, but I couldn’t see any, and I thought of shaking you, but if you were hurt, I could make it worse and --”

  “Kilan.”

  “Hmm?”

  “You’re babbling.”

  At the admonishment -- as mild as it sounded -- Kilan fell silent. Antal tried to assess his condition, making small, controlled movements. He ran a hand as best he could over his skull. “How long have I been out?”

  “Not long. That is…not long but long enough for me to panic.”

  Antal flicked his gaze at Kilan. As his eyes adjusted, he could make out the concern in the other man’s face. “Thank you for caring, though if not for you, I wouldn’t be in this mess. Am I bleeding?”

  “What?” The sudden question seemed to confuse the prince.

  “Am I bleeding anywhere that you can see, feel?”

  “I-I don’t know. I don’t think so.” Almost as though he believed Antal had given him permission, Kilan reached out, tentatively patting Antal here and there. Despite their predicament, a flash of amusement took Antal by surprise. He noted Kilan’s movements and watched his face until Kilan looked up and their gazes met. He couldn’t be sure in the dim light, but possibly Kilan blushed. The question was why. He’d been aware of Kilan’s attention for some time now. What he assumed had begun out of fun and as a way to irritate him had changed. He just wasn’t sure when and in what way. He’d assumed it had something to do with Kilan’s admiration, for he was very much aware that Kilan looked up to him even if he felt that approbation currently unwarranted.

  More recently, the idea that Kilan was flirting with him took precedence, but if that was the prince’s intention, then he gave the word subtle a whole new meaning. Was it possible that Kilan felt as unsure of his own feelings as Antal’s was of his own? Antal almost sniggered. He felt as unsure of his feelings regarding Kilan as he was of his current predicament. Why did he imagine the prince, always inconsistent at the best of times, should fare any better than he?

  Up above, on solid ground, before they’d fallen through the earth, Kilan had looked at him and said he looked amazing, but that type of comment didn’t necessarily denote sexual interest for the Swithin. The flash he’d seen in Kilan’s eyes had, though. Had Kilan followed just to see what he was going to do with the statue, or was he actually interested? If so, was the idea of sex the only reason Kilan had followed him, or was there more to it? Antal didn’t know how he felt about either option; right now he had other priorities.

  Apparently, Kilan also felt uncomfortable, for he pressed on. “Does anything feel broken?”

  Antal had been trying to work out that very thing. The fact that he wasn’t rolling around in agony likely meant no. Nothing seemed broken, but he still hurt. He lay naked on his back in the dirt. His head throbbed a little but not alarmingly. He couldn’t account for passing out. He might have struck his head hard enough to knock himself senseless, but he didn’t think so. “My ankle hurts,” he answered. “I think the rest of me is fine apart from some grazes.” That would serve him right for chasing someone while naked. “I’m worried whether I hit my head.” It wouldn’t be the first whack to the head he’d received. His father always joked that he must have a thick skull; otherwise, the number of times he’d been hit in the head should have knocked some sense into him. “Are you hurt anywhere?”

  “No. I landed…on you.”

  He remembered now. “That explains it.”

  “What?”

  “You knocked me unconscious.” Even though the ground had given way under Kilan first, Antal had been right behind him. He’d grabbed for the other man, not with capture in mind but reacting on instinct to save him, and then the ground had given way beneath his feet too, only faster. He’d plummeted, clutching at Kilan for something to cling to, which was stupid when they were both falling. Grasping at Kilan, somehow he had turned in the air, bringing Kilan down on top of him. He stopped checking the back of his head. Now he raised a hand to his temple. Sure enough, he felt the bump under his hair where Kilan’s elbow had connected. He moved to rise, and Kilan automatically helped. He sat for a moment, head forward, trying to ignore the agony in his ankle, waiting to see if he felt any nausea or dizziness. Not surprisingly, he felt a little light-headed, but it soon passed. “I think I’m fine.” Other parts of him ached, but for reasons that had nothing to do with the fall.

  “Your ankle?” Kilan reminded him, not that he needed any reminding.

  “Hurts worse than buggery.” Antal glanced up. “Sorry. Channeling Ryanac. Put it down to the pain.”

  “It didn’t look…” Kilan began, his voice trailing away.

  “What didn’t look like what?” Antal asked, although he suspected.

  “Never mind.”

  Perhaps as a distraction from the pain or maybe because of it, Antal fought an internal war of emotions fluctuating between belligerence and amusement. “Finish the sentence.” He managed to put enough force into his words to make Kilan shift uncomfortably.

  “I was going to say it didn’t look as if you were in pain…back there.”

  Antal didn’t need to ask back where or doing what. “And then your brain actually caught up with your mouth for once and you opted to say nothing until I insisted,” Antal admonished gently. “I’m not embarrassed,” he added, although being Swithin that was a peculiar point to make, even more so as he wasn’t being entirely truthful. He couldn’t help grimacing and finally grinning, even laughing. “Well, not entirely. It all seems quite foolish now.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. It’s put a smile back on your face, even if it doesn’t last.”

  Antal blinked in surprise. He swallowed, doubly uncomfortable now. “Have I been that surly lately?” Although he’d spoken regarding his emotional state in front of Kilan, the way the prince said it made him think Kilan’s awareness went deeper than that. It was one thing to know Ryanac would be so astute, quite another to know someone as seemingly as blithe as Kilan should notice; Antal found that interesting as well as unnerving.

  “Not so too many would notice. Is it broken?”

  Relieved to have Kilan distract him from his thoughts, Antal continued the self-diagnosis. He set the more intimate side of the conversation aside in favor of immediate concerns. “It’s swollen. I can wiggle my toes, though it hurts. I don’t think it’s broken. Sprained, I guess, but it’s a bad one. I can’t put any weight on it.” He looked up toward the aperture and the sky overhead. “I’m certainly not going to be able to climb.” He tried to keep the bitterness from his voice but wasn’t sure he succeeded. It felt bitter indeed to feel suddenly helpless.


  “That doesn’t matter anyway. I’ve checked. The walls are too crumbly. Even if one of us could stand on the other’s shoulders, we wouldn’t be able to reach, and I don’t think there’s anything to hold on to. I think the edge will disintegrate.”

  Antal nodded. The hole wasn’t that deep, but deep enough, and with nothing to grab for purchase -- even with two good legs each -- they’d be lucky to climb. Kilan was looking away from him over his right shoulder. Antal gazed that way now. Darkness quickly swallowed up both ends of the tunnel.

  “Does it go far?”

  “No idea. I went a little way in both directions. It gets tighter that way” -- Kilan indicated one route -- “but seems to open out a little in the other. I didn’t want to explore too far while you were unconscious.”

  “I think you’ll have to now that I’m awake.” He hated to have to rely on Kilan, on anyone, but he also had enough common sense to know when to accept help. That didn’t mean he couldn’t supervise. “Do you have your pack?” He’d seen Kilan carrying it, and the other man nodded. “What provisions do you have? Anything for light?”

  “No. A flint but there’s nothing here to ignite. There’s a blanket, water, some of those horrid dried food bars.”

  “You might end up grateful to have them.”

  “I was traveling light, and I didn’t think I’d need much for a couple of days.”

  “Of course if you hadn’t followed me, we wouldn’t be in this predicament.”

  “About that…”

  “Later.” Although he’d brought the subject up yet again, this was not the time to discuss it. “I’m more concerned with you getting a move on and investigating these tunnels before it gets dark.”