by Mike Truk
Zarja frowned. “It was a trap. The ghost would have killed us all if he had.”
“But he didn’t know that. Did you?”
“No,” said Hugh, looking down at his scarred, callused hands.
“Then… why? You barely know me. Why risk your life? Why risk everything?”
“Because…” Hugh trailed off. Became supremely aware of how important his next words were. Could feel Anastasia’s gaze boring into him with terrible intensity. How to put it into words? How to explain actions he hadn’t had time to deliberate, instincts that had impelled him to act?
“Ever since I lost the Reavers,” he said, “life has been… hard. I fought to numb myself. To not feel. Not think. To just… exist, day to day. Drinking, fucking, gambling. A living death, since I was too cowardly to die.”
Complete silence. Candle flames wavered, causing warm shadows to slowly dance against the walls behind them.
“But then my brother sent me here, to the north. And I picked the three of you to join me. Caprice, I thought. To spite him. Take his disciplus and captain. But now, I’m not so sure it was just chance that guided my choices. Moreover, I don’t care what it was. Because for the first time in forever, I don’t feel alone.”
He dry-swallowed. Clenched his cup hard. Forced himself to keep going. One word at a time. “You’re right. I don’t know you. I don’t know Zarja or Morwyn either, really. Not in the conventional sense. But we’ve fought together. Saved each other’s lives. I trust you all. I care for you.” Stopped, the words not sitting right. Fumbled at his emotions, as if they were priceless, delicate objects and his hands encased in smithing mitts. Took a deep breath and risked a glance at the two women.
Oh, but they were perilously beautiful, and rapt, utterly focused on him, both their eyes gleaming, both leaning forward, listening intently.
He reached for his cup of wine, tossed it back. Still the two women listened, so he felt compelled to continue. Feeling the fool. “I feel like Fortuna brought us together. That we’re meant for each other. That with you by my side I can accomplish the impossible. Achieve… my fate. Or destiny. I don’t know. But I need you. Want you. Cherish you.” He’d never spoken like this before. Didn’t know where the words were coming from. Glanced up, saw Zarja give him a subtle nod of encouragement. From her, perhaps. Her influence.
“Anyway. That’s why I’d not give you up. That’s why I’d die for you. For Zarja. For Morwyn, even, much as she hates my guts. Because, while I don’t know you, I really, really want to change that. You’re brilliant and strong and beautiful and smart and so many other things. I’ll never give you up. Never abandon you. I’d die for you, for Zarja, for Morwyn. A hundred times over.”
His voice was raw, his heart in his throat, his face flushed. “Having come this close to killing myself, I recognize in you a reason to live. And a reason to die, if it came to it.”
There. He’d said. No more words left. He sat there, cup in hand, eyes downcast, feeling an idiot, a crude mockery of a poet, waited to hear Anastasia snort in amusement, to ask him if he was really being serious.
Instead, she stood up.
Walked around the table to where he sat, footsteps silent, to stand before him. Lowered herself into an easy crouch before him, slate blue jacket unbuttoned and parting to reveal her dark shirt, the gold and blue scarf knotted at her throat. Tall and elegant and effortlessly poised on the balls of her feet. Her dark eyes liquid with emotion, her lips parted, her high cheekbones flushed.
She placed both hands on his thighs to balance herself. Studied him. Stared as if into his very soul, and then leaned forward, slowly, oh so slowly, as if giving him all the opportunity in the world to rebuff her. Shifted onto her knees between his legs, hands rising up to cup his cheek, her face rising to his own, hesitant to the last, lips parting again, head tilting subtly to the side.
Hugh couldn’t breathe. The very slowness of her approach robbed him of all mobility. Her lips pressed gently against his own. Dry and soft, the gentlest of touches. She stopped, her breath warm against his upper lip, fingers light against his cheek, the scent of her hair around him, the brush of her coat against his thighs, and then she kissed him again.
Firmly, this time. Hand sliding around, fingers sinking into his hair, cupping his head now, kissed him hard, and he saw her eyes close.
She tasted of wine, her lips soft, her mouth alien, unlike Morwyn’s, unlike Zarja’s, different and exciting for being so, her body angular and elegant between his thighs, her chest rising and falling.
Anastasia broke the kiss, pulled back, eyes wide, blinking. “I’m - I’m sorry, that was - I don’t know what came over me -”
Now it was Hugh’s turn to cup her face in his hands, her skin so smooth, the long line of her jaw, the flutter of her pulse against the blade of his hand on the side of her throat and lean forward to kiss her. She froze again, taken aback perhaps, but he didn’t care, pulled her to him, between his legs, kissing her with a rising passion, his lips parting, her own parting in turn, so that their tongues touched - and then intertwined.
Hugh closed his eyes. The candle-lit parlor with all its subtle gradations of gold and black fell away, and there was only Anastasia’s hungry mouth, her questing tongue, sliding over his own, across his lips, retreating, inviting him into her own mouth, her taste, her wet heat.
A hand slid across his hair, a third hand, and Hugh startled, pulled back, and saw that Zarja had moved forward to kneel beside Anastasia, under whose chin she’d slid her fingers, turning her face away from Hugh, toward her.
Anastasia’s eyes went wide with shock, with alarm. Hugh thought Zarja would talk, say something, and in doing that give Anastasia the opportunity to collect her thoughts, to think, and in thinking, reject - but instead Zarja leaned forward, supremely confident, her full lower lip between her teeth, raising Anastasia’s chin as she did so, to kiss her, softly, lovingly, full on the lips.
Hugh’s breath stopped in his chest. He sat there, watching, as the two women kissed chastely, both of them on their knees before him, Zarja’s eyes closing in sensual delight, Anastasia’s opening wider in shock.
But she didn’t pull away. Didn’t kiss back, at first, simply stared at Zarja, brows rising ever higher, while the lisica kissed her gently.
There was no hiding the passion behind that kiss. When Zarja pulled back, she smiled, delighted, at ease, and that very confidence seemed to wash over Anastasia, whose face had flushed even more, and who raised her fingers to her lips in wonder.
“So soft,” said the lisica, voice dreamy with contentment. “Your lips, your skin. I’ve been wanting to do that since I saw you.”
“Since you - back outside the walls of Castle Stasiek?”
“Yes,” said Zarja, reaching up to run her fingers over Anastasia’s dark hair, trace her harsh cheekbone, down to her jaw, then ghost over her lips. “I knew at that very moment I had to kiss you. Saw in you such rich passion, such fractured strength, such beauty, such sweetness, such… innocence.”
Anastasia gave a shaky laugh, began to pull back, but Zarja leaned in again, one hand sliding around to cup the back of the disciplus’ head, and kissed her once more, hungrily this time, mouth opening, her head turning slightly to one side, her tail lashing back and forth.
Anastasia froze again, eyes widening - and then slowly they closed as she melted into the kiss. Moved her own mouth in response, hands hesitantly stealing up to the lisica’s shoulders, to at first just rest there, then - as Zarja moaned into her mouth - squeeze.
Hugh couldn’t move. Felt like doing so would ruin the magic that was taking place, shatter the moment. So he watched, cock straining in his breeches, drinking in the passion, the love that was evident between the two women.
Anastasia broke the kiss, pulled back just enough so that she could study Zarja’s face, their foreheads touching, and then laughed, a soft sound of joy as tears filled her eyes. “I’m going mad.”
“Not mad,” said Zarja,
once more caressing her cheek. “Becoming yourself. Living. Allowing yourself to be loved.”
“Loved?” asked Anastasia, as if the word were alien.
“Loved,” said Zarja firmly, then turned to look at Hugh. “Right?”
And then both women were looking at him, between his legs, cheeks pressed together as they considered him, dark eyes and honey amber.
“Yes,” he breathed. And knew it to be true. What was love if not putting another’s happiness before your own? What was love if not being willing to die for another? “Yes. Love.”
This time it was Anastasia’s turn to bite her lower lip, tears brimming in her eyes again. She wiped at them angrily. “I’m sorry. I’m such a fool.”
“Shh,” said Zarja, reaching up to move Anastasia’s hands away and wipe the tears herself. “What is foolish about being moved to tears by joy? You are loved, Anastasia. If that is not worth spilling tears for, then I don’t know what is.”
“It’s just - I never expected, not in this life, that - that I would -”
“But you have,” said Zarja again, with that easy, loving confidence, “and this is just the beginning. If you let it. Will you?”
Anastasia wiped at her eyes again. “Let what?”
Zarja’s smile was amused, indulgent, affectionate. “Let yourself be loved, silly.”
“I - yes.” Anastasia’s smile was raw, vulnerable, beautiful. “Yes. I - I will. If -”
“No ‘if’s,’” whispered Zarja, leaning forward once more. She kissed Anastasia’s cheek. Rubbed her nose against the whorls of her ear, then purred into its deepest recesses. “Just ‘yes.’ Nothing more.”
Anastasia half closed her eyes and quivered. “Yes. Yes, yes, a thousand times yes.”
Zarja bit her earlobe, tugged at it gently, then released and kissed a trail down Anastasia’s neck till she reached the line of her kerchief. Hugh thought she’d pull that away, but instead she lay her cheek on the disciplus’ shoulder and considered him.
“And not just by me,” she said. “By our lord as well. Will you let him love you?”
Anastasia turned, startled again, swallowed, and then gave a tense nod. “If he wills it.”
“If you will it,” said Hugh, leaning forward to take her face between his palms. “If you will it, Ana.”
“Ana,” she said, voice barely a whisper. “I heard you call me that. In that basement. When I thought - when -”
“Ana,” Hugh said again, and leaned down to press his lips to her own. Zarja’s confidence was infectious. Her surety. Her assurance that this was right. “Do you will it?”
She inhaled, then gave a jerky nod. “Yes,” she whispered. “I do.”
Zarja rose to her knees, hand on each of their shoulders, smile wide, glad. “Oh good,” she said, pressing forward, to kiss Anastasia, giving a soft moan of delight as she did so, then turning her face to kiss Hugh, her lips fuller, her taste subtly different, her scent intoxicating.
Anastasia leaned forward, her lips hovering just beyond their own, then, guided by Zarja’s hand, she leaned in, turning her head slightly, so that she could kiss them both at the same time.
Hugh’s heart was hammering at the inside of his ribs. He felt lightheaded, near delirious. Both women kissed him and each other, Zarja opening her mouth so that her tongue could emerge, Anastasia licking it in turn, their lips rubbing against his own, and for a moment there was madness, both women kissing each other ever more passionately, with him there, between them, their tongues sliding over his own - until Zarja placed her palm firmly on his chest and thrust him back.
Hugh allowed himself to be pushed, and sat back, startled. Had he been rejected? Told to sit this one out?
But no. Zarja’s eyes gleamed wickedly. “Ana, my love. Have you ever sucked a man’s cock?”
Hugh had thought the disciplus past blushing, but she did again. “Of - of course. Once.”
“Once?” Zarja’s incredulity was equal parts delighted and shocked. All the while her fingers worked on the lacings at the front of Hugh’s breeches. “When I said you had much to learn, I had no idea.”
Anastasia pressed her fingers to the corner of her lips, wiping at a spot of gleaming spit. “They kept us busy.”
“At all the wrong things,” breathed Zarja, and then her fingers insinuated themselves through the front of Hugh’s breeches to trace the outline of his cock. “But oh, there’s time enough to learn. Lift your hips, my lord.”
Hugh did as he was bid, and Zarja pulled his breeches down, over his knees. Anastasia tried to yank his boot off, but it wouldn’t come, so that Zarja had to help, both of them holding it tight, yanking, until with a scream and a laugh they fell over onto their asses, boot leaping free.
“See?” Zarja held up the boot then tossed it aside. “You’re a natural. Pull on it till it comes. It’s all you need to know.”
Anastasia smiled bashfully, pulled off Hugh’s other boot, casting nervous glances at his cock under his small clothes all the while. That free, Zarja pulled his breeches away, then slid his small clothes off so that his cock sprang free at last.
“Oh shit,” said Anastasia, clearly taken back.
“It’s beautiful, is it not?” Zarja leaned forward, grasping his cock by the base and rubbing her cheek against it.
“It’s… it’s much bigger than I… imagined.”
“You give it a lot of thought?” asked the lisica, and then grinned up at Hugh as the disciplus blushed beet red.
“No, I mean, sometimes, I mean, when I saw the rest of him -”
“Hush,” said Zarja, reaching for her hand. “Come. Touch him.”
Hugh leaned back, forcing himself to relax, and watched, his whole body afire with desire as Anastasia worked her way back in beside Zarja between his legs, and reached out, hesitant once more, to touch the side of his cock, trace its rigid length. Her touch was so light he could barely feel it, but that very lightness made it almost unbearable, and he shivered, his whole body jerking in his chair.
Anastasia jerked her hand back. “I’m sorry, did I -?”
“Just like that,” said Zarja, voice growing huskier. “Try again. Grasp it.”
Anastasia did so, gaze flicking up from his cock to Hugh’s eyes as she closed her long, elegant fingers about his shaft, her hand overlapping Zarja’s smaller one.
“Now, pump it slowly. Down till the head grows taut, then back up.”
Anastasia nodded, frowning with fierce concentration, and together they began to pump his cock, slowly, methodically.
The sight of both their faces between his legs was almost too much. Hugh wanted to close his eyes and lean his head back, but also to drink them in, imprint this vision in his memory forever.
“It’s not as good when he’s dry,” said Zarja, voice huskier yet.
“Then?”
“Then, this.” Zarja leaned forward and licked the side of his cock, her eyes moving up to playfully lock on his own. “You do the other side.”
Anastasia nodded and moved down. Her chin grazed his inner thigh as she extended her tongue and ran it up the length of his shaft, Zarja’s own descending as she climbed.
Hugh groaned, wanting more, wanting to grasp their heads, but held back, fascinated, aroused beyond measure.
Up and down their heads bobbed, Zarja’s honeyed perfection, Anastasia’s elegant, cool beauty. Tongues tracing the length of his cock, their tips wet and warm, until at last Zarja reached the top, and instead of descending, moved her mouth over his head and took him within her lips.
The wet, tight heat was indescribable. Down she went, taking his shaft into her, till his head hit the back of her throat. She undulated her tongue back and forth across the length of his shaft, then rose up, tilted her head, and took him into her throat, all the way, her lips traveling down, down, until she buried her nose in this pubic hair, all of him lost inside her.
“Fuck,” groaned Hugh.
Anastasia’s eyes were open wide in shock once more.
With a gasp Zarja pulled free, a strand of spit linking her lips to his cock, and then gave her a wink.
“You try.”
“I couldn’t,” said Anastasia. “He’s too big -”
“Just try,” said Zarja with a smile. “You never know.”
Anastasia nodded and moved closer. Then, dark eyes rising to lock on his own, she took him into her mouth, slowly, with extreme focus, and there sucked on him, her cheeks hollowing out.
Zarja had more practice, but there was something about seeing Anastasia with all her cool reserve suck his cock that was even more arousing.
“Now,” said Zarja, hand moving to the back of Anastasia’s head, “relax, let him slide deeper. Breathe through your nose.”
Anastasia did as she was bid. He felt his cock slide deeper into her mouth, heard her breathing rapidly through her nostrils, till he hit the back of her throat and she suddenly choked, coughed, and pulled back, off of him, to cover her mouth, eyes watering.
“Beautiful!” said Zarja, cupping her chin to kiss her cheek, then pull her around to kiss her lips, kiss away her embarrassment.
“I’m sorry,” she said to Hugh, but he waved her apology away.
“Ana. I… I don’t fucking know what to say. But that was…”
She gave a hesitant smile. “Only my first attempt.”
Hugh grinned. “I like the sound of that.”
“Now, together,” said Zarja, and moved to take Hugh in her mouth, sliding all the way down with practiced ease, then back up to pop his cock out with a slurp. “You.”
Anastasia nodded, did the same, till his cock head hit the back of her throat once more. This time she was ready and pulled back, sucking on him all the while, till he sprang free. And in such manner did they continue, taking turns, faces pressed close together, cheeks rubbing, his cock glistening from their mingled spit, as they sank down and up, down and up, over and over again.
Hugh groaned, sprawled back in the chair, and now he did close his eyes. Lost track of who was taking turns, felt fingers grasp his balls and gently massage them, and then a hand go under his knee and raise it up, looping it over the chair arm with practiced confidence.
