The answer was a moan and a muffled, "Good," followed by the familiar burn of Tash's finger twisting inside. Another finger traveled downwards to caress Mayr's balls, and Mayr cursed his agreement. He wanted to feel Tash in him, to surrender to the breach as Tash filled him.
Tash's hand snaked up Mayr's thigh and over his ribs, until Mayr slipped the vial into Tash's hand. The blankets pulled taut with Tash's shifted weight as he sat back to work with the oil and toss the vial aside. A moment later, his tender touch returned, comforting as he slid two slicked fingers into Mayr.
Mayr mumbled his appreciation. The blankets pooled beneath his head the more he clutched them and drew inwards. He swayed with the rhythm set by Tash and sighed with contentment. This was how they liked it best: slow and drawn out, with Mayr at Tash's creative mercy and controlled wickedness. On occasion, they switched to fierce, blinding sex or Mayr drove into Tash until he tore into Mayr's back, but this was different. This was them; their bliss, their equilibrium. Vulnerability and safety wrapped up in affectionate leisure—
Mayr shouted into the mattress. Tash's fingers were there again, stroking the sensitive spot inside that always made Mayr lose his mind. Warm pre-release trickled onto the bed and wet Mayr's stomach, leaving his cock aching for more.
From behind, Tash laughed softly. "Come." He stroked Mayr's hip. "Enough play. Come to me." Tash helped Mayr to his knees, his hands slathered in sweet-scented oil. Carefully he sat on his heels and guided Mayr back, his knees closed between Mayr's parted thighs.
Before he fell into Tash's lap, Mayr reached between them to grip Tash and rub pre-release over his oil-slicked tip. Tash breathed sharply and rolled his hips. His cock pulsed in Mayr's grasp, tight and hot, strained to the point of desperate need.
Time for a new game, Mayr decided, aligning Tash's cock to his entrance. All at once, he pushed down while Tash lifted up. They groaned in unison, Mayr taking Tash to the hilt. Grinning as he leaned forward, Mayr rose until the head of Tash's cock teased the inside of his opening. The next instant, he fell back, taking Tash fully once more, accompanied by another of Tash's delectable moans.
Tash's response was quick: pushing Mayr's thighs further apart with his knees, he clutched Mayr's hips tight and thrust deep. They rose and fell together, again and again. Tension chased anticipation, the beast of intensity unfurling between them. Every rise was like a breath in, moist and open, the wet sounds of skin sliding over well-oiled skin filling the gaps between needy pants. Every fall felt as if they set that breath on fire and demolished emptiness. Grounded in moments meant only for them, their gasps were as deafening as the cries that screamed love.
They rocked vigorously, the bed creaking in protest. Tash laced the fingers of his right hand through Mayr's then shifted to pound anew. His left hand stroked Mayr's cock, the smooth marriage ring gliding over him.
The sight of his ring on Tash's finger cast Mayr into a dizzying haze. The diamonds glittered in the wash of moonlight that reached the bed, brilliant and stunning even under a glistening coat of oil and pre-release.
This was their life. Not Mayr's alone but theirs. Come what may, Tash had said yes.
An eternity of yes—a forever of being yours.
Mayr slammed down, throwing them both off their rhythm. He clenched his muscles to clamp tight around Tash's cock, and as he pulled off with tortuous slowness, he arched into Tash without releasing the strength of his hold. At the tip, he repeated the process, his back straining. Once, twice, three more times.
Tash growled and yanked on a fistful of Mayr's hair. His tightened grip jerked Mayr's shaft. Almost on his knees, Tash lifted Mayr higher, one thrust after another. Shallow, stunted breaths filled the air amidst the whimpers and grunts that heralded the end.
"Mayr," Tash warned, driving his fingers between Mayr's legs. A sensual caress flitted over Mayr's tightened sac, too light to ignore.
Tash may as well have kicked him.
Mayr whined and snapped forward, clawing at the bed as he came. "Halataldris," he rasped. His head throbbed with the sound of his own heartbeat.
Behind him, Tash shuddered and cried out. A whimper escaped Mayr as he rode Tash's release. He bit down hard enough to taste blood on his bottom lip. The moment Tash finished, Mayr collapsed onto the bed, ensuring he took Tash with him.
"Wait, let me—" Tash withdrew and fell onto his side, sweat glistening on his forehead. Through his gasps, he smiled wearily. "Good?"
"Mmm." Mayr hid his face against Tash's damp shoulder. The scent of sex and oil wafted around them. Sticky release smeared his skin. Deep breaths were impossible, forcing him to pant into Tash's neck. "Perfect."
Tash's throaty laugh turned into a light snort. He squeezed Mayr's hip before standing and padding across the room for a wet cloth. On his return, Mayr spread his legs and lay still while Tash wiped him down, then himself. Not long after, Tash took the cloth back to the table.
Mayr slid from the bed, yanked off the top blanket, and tossed it into the corner. By the time Tash returned, he had flipped back the blankets, thrown both mauve pillows to the floor, and repositioned the white pillows across the headboard so he could lie back on the middle two.
Tash crawled into the bed from the right side. Cuddled against him, Tash buried his face in Mayr's neck, one arm curled over Mayr's waist. They lay in a long silence, finding the calm together. A peace settled inside Mayr, deeper than satisfaction, more intense than joy. He could lie there forever, wanting for nothing but more time.
"Guess what?" Mayr whispered.
"Hmm?"
"We're getting married," Mayr sang quietly.
Tash lifted his head. "And it's what you want? I didn't rush—"
Mayr pressed his fingers to Tash's lips. "Don't, Halataldris. This—us—I'm not doing anything I don't want to do. I trust we'll make a marriage work. I trust that if we have a family, you won't take our child away or force me out of their life."
The kiss Tash brushed across his mouth stopped him from saying more.
"Thank you," Tash murmured. "I know it's not easy for you. I know your trust has to be earned. I'll cherish it always." His fingertips crept across Mayr's lips. "I'll strive to stay worthy of it."
"You don't have to strive. Just be you." Mayr caught Tash's fingers and held them. "You turned down being an Uldana priest for me. I still don't know how to respond to that except to give you my trust and heart and anything else you want." He planted tiny kisses across Tash's knuckles. "I needed time to get myself together, but I've been going mad from knowing what I really want. I had to wait for the ring to get finished first."
"A beautiful ring."
"Ress did well."
"Ress?"
"Well, yeah." Mayr snorted. "He would've whacked me with his cane had I not asked. So we came to an agreement: he got a space to work in and all the shiny materials, and I paid for everything. After Araveena, I wasn't going to let you go without some sort of—" He clamped his mouth shut. Did he need to spoil the mood by mentioning that night?
Tash propped himself up on his elbow. "No, don't stop. Without what?"
"A commitment." Mayr let out a defeated breath. "I told our families getting married changed nothing. I reduced it to an excuse of inheritance. But it does change things. It's more than names on a piece of paper and an argument about birthright and final wishes." He rolled onto his side to face Tash. "I could've lost you. So while I'm terrified of getting married again, I need you to know how I feel, what I'm willing to do. You mean more to me than my fears."
"Mayr…" Whatever his unspoken words, the tears in Tash's awestruck gaze said everything.
"I'm offering you my life, Halataldris," Mayr said softly. "It's what I want, and I want you to feel it, too."
"I do," Tash whispered, "more than you know."
"Then it's settled." Mayr grinned and swept Tash's hair over his shoulder. "You'll be mine, I'll be yours, and we can still enjoy the conservatory before it goes cold."
Tash's ey
es widened. "Naked and slow?"
A mischievous laugh bubbled up from Mayr's core in answer. On the list of things he planned to do by morning, naked and slow was only the start.
Chapter Four
Someone loved him enough to tie their life to his.
Tash blinked awake. Sunlight greeted him, accompanied by the quiet crackles of fire between steady snores. Lying on his right side, facing the grey stone of the bedroom's outer wall, he sensed the weight of Mayr slumbering behind him on the mussed bed. If his memories could be believed, they had made love in the conservatory until dawn and witnessed the first rays of dim, pink light before they stumbled back to bed.
Words pounded in his head, shepherding his thoughts along whimsical paths of insatiable desire. With the slow lick of his lips, he tasted Mayr's countless kisses and musky essence, comforted by the familiarity of his lover.
No, not just my lover… Tash snaked his left hand out from beneath the covers. The marriage ring glinted white and blue on his middle finger, its details exquisite and real. He's my betrothed.
Tears threatened to overtake him. He curled his fingers into his chest and gripped his pillow with his other hand. His emotions refused to grant him a reprieve, no matter how hard he wished them away. Since the proposal, he had nearly wept each time Mayr did anything sweet or thoughtful, which leaned on the side of every other moment. His unbidden tears had earned him endless starry-eyed smiles and tender touches, whispers of soul that assured him he was where he ought to be.
Someone had found him worthy. Someone wanted him just as he was.
No words could express how high and fast his spirit wanted to fly through the ether of the universe, announcing the news. If he could have traded places with the divine bird Halataldris, Tash would have soared through the heavens and brought back a piece of a star to adorn Mayr's hand as a token of his love.
How wrong he had been; how poorly he had assumed. His fear of Mayr's secretiveness led him to believe the worst.
You weren't pulling away from me—you were trying to get closer. Tash clenched his jaws and squeezed his eyes shut. He had spent the day before lamenting the dead and casting shadows of expectation onto Mayr. All the while, Mayr had intended to offer light to the gloom. His affection lifted Tash from the abyss and set him on a peak. They had greeted the new day with laughter and caresses that still burned in Tash's memories.
Tash opened his eyes and unfurled his fist. He wiggled his fingers to watch the diamonds in his ring catch the light, awed by their very existence. For someone to call him husband… It was unexpected, given his rotten luck with romance. Hope followed him into every dedicated relationship, but disgust always accompanied him out of them. Inesta, his first love, had trapped him in an ultimatum and loathed his decision to save her life. His second love, Naliss, had tired of Tash's need for seclusion and walked away. The third, Erithe, had killed herself, leaving Tash convinced he had pushed her too far.
His choices had never been acceptable, his fears never tolerable. Those he gave his heart to had rejected him, frustrated with his inability to be more even after he tried to be whatever they wanted him to be.
Then there's you. Tash smiled at the soft snorts and smacking of lips as Mayr rolled onto his back. You'd hunt my other loves down and bury them in guilt if you could, if I'd let you.
As it was, Mayr showed care for Inesta's safety, ensuring she was protected while she pursued her new life in Alosaa, the neighbouring tract east of Gailarin. Mayr disliked Inesta, yet he had asked Rosayra, the wife and Head of the Guard for the Tract Steward in charge of Alosaa, to look out for her. Without Tash's knowledge or plea, Mayr had made a personal request of another Head Guard and been granted a favour usually reserved for those of Mayr's blood. Instead of leaving Inesta to fend for herself, Mayr acknowledged Tash's love for her and offered what Tash could not: a happy life where no one could hurt her, not even Tash.
You didn't deserve any of this, Ines. I know you'll only ever see me as the monster that ruined your life instead of the coward that couldn't stand losing you. I understand why you left, and I can't blame you—I would've left me too.
"I'm sorry," Tash whispered, fighting the urge to glance at his scarred forearms, one of his most shameful secrets. Although the Shar-denn had permanently marked him, carving the flesh of his thighs and calves with blunt knives and thin strands of barbed metal, his self-inflicted wounds were the ones he always hid.
Ugly as they were, he could withstand the scars from the Shar-denn. The meaning inherent in their existence painted his character in a way other markings never would. They were a sign of overdue rebellion, a symbol of reclaimed morality. After Tash refused to murder innocents, his Shar-denn brethren had beaten him until he bled from every orifice. His chest and legs were covered in hideous burns from punishment, scarred tissue filling the holes where flames and heated stakes had been shoved inside his injuries. Guards he had called friends had tortured him until his throat was stripped raw from screaming, all because he would not execute the children and grandchildren of a man his faction boss considered a rival.
Still, the only wounds that drove him away from his own reflection were the ones from his own knife. They were the story of his wounded heart, written in skin. Not only were they reminders of loss, they were souvenirs of his journey from monster to man.
Grateful as he was to have Mayr, he owed just as great a debt to Inesta for shoving him onto the path he had traveled to get there. Inesta had demanded he choose between her and the Shar-denn to test his love. She diminished herself to what she considered a simple choice, as if the options were not intertwined by a complicated web.
The ultimatum had tested his love, that much was true, but the way Inesta misinterpreted his choice was even worse. What she saw as him ending their relationship because he cared too little could not have been further from the truth. Walking away from her, listening to her wail and scream obscenities at him while he fled her parents' home, had left Tash in agony. Her screams had twisted his courage until he shoved his emotions into several bottles of fulore, the strongest alcohol he had kept in his private collection in a Shar-denn cache house.
Unable to face his family and peers, Tash had hidden in Nimae and Varen's home while they were on a week-long raid and drunk himself blind, his eyes swollen shut by tears. Alone at the house in the secluded woods, he had screamed at the night. Barely upright in the middle of the glen behind the back shed, he threw anything he could find at the trees. When he tried to throw an empty bottle of fulore, the bottle shattered in his grip. Angry that even the drink punished him, he had thrown a handful of shards, yelling at the pain he should have felt from the glass embedded in his hand.
Afterwards, he had picked the glass out of his wound, calm as he focused on healing himself. Sometime after midnight, he had passed out on the floor in front of the cold hearth, covered in bloodstains and soot.
Fresh pain had awoken him at noon, a brutal reminder of what he had given up. Inesta believed his choice reflected his true desires, that he wanted to steal, kill, and maim rather than marry her and raise the family she had begged him for.
None of it was true. He had chosen her, protecting her from retribution. Had he left the Shar-denn, the gang would have killed them both. They would have sold Inesta over and over again, exploiting her to death. Though he told her as much and swore he loved her more than life itself, she had thrown a mirror at him. He could still remember the noise of the frame splintering and the shattered glass.
The day after their parting had burned as viciously as the night before. The venom in her tone had scorched his love. His heart had tried to beat true, though it floundered with the memories of how much she wished he would die. His knives had never looked more like a saving grace as they did the second night without her. Like the broken bottle, he had needed a distraction. A problem he could solve. A pain he could soothe.
The first time he slit his wrists, he had been completely sober. His hand shook the whole ti
me. No tears had fallen, just blood all over the kitchen table. In the moments afterwards, Inesta's name had not been on his tongue. He had put her aside to tend to himself, driven by the need to clean and bandage the jagged wound. Strangely satisfied, he had sat on the back step with another bottle of fulore and recounted the sensation of ripping himself apart simply to put himself back together.
When he did it again two nights later, and the dozens of times after that, the calm it brought became an addiction—enough that after Naliss and Erithe left him, Tash added more slashes to his arms. His forearms were permanently numb in a way his heart never would be.
With Naliss, the scars reminded Tash he could not think only of himself. He had to be strong and give everything his lover wanted and needed, even if it meant putting himself in harm's way. No one wanted to help bear his problems. No one would stand by him while he hid from the Shar-denn. Love could not exist in the shadows: it was only worthy in the open.
Unlike Inesta, Naliss had not challenged Tash's love. Instead, Naliss had packed everything he kept in the small house the priests had provided Tash and kept his departure blunt. It had taken mere moments to end a relationship crafted in little less than a year, unceremonious as Naliss stood in the front doorway and announced he was leaving. After a bitter rant full of disgust and exasperation over Tash's paranoia and emotional shortcomings, Naliss had turned and left Tash to stare at the slamming door.
Erithe never gave Tash that much. She simply approached him in the village market, told him they were over because he rushed her with unbearable expectations, and walked away.
Tash had hurried after her and grasped her hand, desperate to save their gentle, often complicated love, but Erithe had yelped and jerked away. "Leave me alone! You're smothering me," she had cried, catching the attention of all the villagers around them. Never had he felt so small.
He offered to do anything to make her happy, pledging to turn himself inside out to love her better, however she needed. In response, Erithe had stumbled away, gaping as if he had threatened to kill her. She ran before he could say anything more.
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