by Megan Derr
By the time he had to use the third spirit, one wyvern was gone and the other had not made it far past the broken trap. Though Tilo was clearly flagging, he held up long enough to finish the job.
When the bone wyverns were nothing but enormous piles of ash, Tilo shifted, swayed on his feet, then toppled over and landed on his back on the ground. Rochus walked slowly over to him and sat down with not much more grace.
Rochus meant to stay awake, truly he did, but dizziness and exhaustion rose up like a tide and dragged him under. The last thing he remembered was resting his head on Tilo's stomach.
A dream jerked him awake sometime later, and he glanced around uncomprehendingly for several minutes before puzzling out that he was in his room in the castle. Moonlight slipped through the open windows, and he could just barely see Song and Silence perched on the back of a chair, Memory asleep at the foot of the bed.
Someone groaned softly, and Rochus turned his head to stare at Tilo, fast asleep beside him, stretched out on his stomach, face half-smooshed into his pillow, hair a tangled mess sticking up in every direction. A warm ache that felt entirely too much like fondness curled through Rochus.
The smart thing would be to get far away before he got himself even further tangled in the mess he was in, but he was still tired, and the bed was the most comfortable thing he'd felt in ages, and where would he go in the dead of night?
He settled back down, curled on his side so he could keep staring like a halfwit until sleep pulled him under once more.
When he woke a second time, it was to early morning light. Tilo still slept hard beside him, though at some point he'd shifted close enough to all but wrap himself around Rochus. Carefully extracting himself, Rochus slid out of bed and washed up in the water that Tilo must have left by the fire.
He pulled on more borrowed clothes, gathered up all his dirty laundry in a large basket borrowed from a storage closet, and headed downstairs. Leaving the laundry in the kitchen to attend to shortly, he headed out to the ward where Fury was patiently waiting, enjoying some hay the ravens had probably managed to bring him. Rochus unpacked everything strapped to him, then read the note from the storekeeper that promised everything he'd wanted was there, along with a few other things.
Carrying it all inside, he then took Fury to the stable and got him settled.
Back in the kitchen, Rochus found the large jug of blood he'd requested. He wrinkled his nose at the smell, but it couldn't be helped when blood needed to be preserved for the long term. At least it seemed to have been done by someone who knew their business. He drank three cups then made himself put it away and get to work.
He'd finished the first round of washing and was hanging it up outside to dry when he heard footsteps, and turned to see Tilo, barely dressed in the most ridiculous pair of pants Rochus had ever seen. What was the point of such material, so clingy and loose all at once? They were barely staying on him and yet left very little to the imagination.
“You can do laundry?” Tilo asked around a yawn.
“You make it sound like laundry is as rare and difficult as necromancy,” Rochus said with a snort. “Trust me, laundry is much easier.”
Tilo gave him a look. “Most lords I know wouldn't even know where to find the soap; some of them would struggle with the water. I certainly can't be trusted with laundry.”
“I wasn't born a lord,” Rochus replied. “We were quite poor until my mother married my stepfather and sold our land. When I proved to have magus ability, I was sent to school to train but never allowed to forget I was a peasant who wasn't even able to read.”
“Oh,” Tilo said, cheeks flushing. “I'm sorry, that must have been hard.”
Rochus shrugged. “I had the last laugh in the end; they're all deathly afraid now that one day the necromancer they tormented will decide to take revenge for their schoolyard antics.”
Tilo laughed.
“There's food in the kitchen if you're hungry, and plenty of it, so help yourself.”
The way Tilo's face lit up broke Rochus's heart. He ran off like someone had just offered him a chest of jewels. Rochus stared after him, then shook himself and got back to work. Taking the empty basket with him, he returned to the kitchen, where he was not at all surprised to see how large a dent Tilo had made in the supplies Fury had brought back. “I was going to offer to make a stew for tonight, but at the rate you're going, I'm not certain there will be anything left.”
Tilo stopped with a bit of cheese halfway to his mouth. “You can cook?”
“Yes, I can cook. I may not need to eat anymore, but some skills are always useful.” Rochus frowned. “Just how long have you been living in an empty castle with little to no food?”
“A few months,” Tilo said. “I sent everyone away as quickly as I could once I knew no one would be coming to help us. As soon as everyone was gone I left for the royal castle.”
Rochus could think of nothing to say. No, that wasn't true. “You're a good lord.” Tilo smiled shyly and looked down at his food. “Though you could stand to remember that you're of no use to anyone if you get yourself killed,” Rochus added, unfazed by the scowl that gained him. “Although I suppose that's not true. Such a vibrant spirit would be extremely useful to me.”
Tilo narrowed his eyes and slowly stood up, moved around the table.
“It was a—” Rochus oofed as Tilo shoved him backward, butting against the work table behind him, “—jest. I was only jesting.”
“Oh, I'm aware, magus,” Tilo replied and fisted his hands in Rochus's shirt. “I know for a fact there's more than my spirit that appeals to you.”
Rochus again tried to reply, but was cut off by Tilo's mouth against his, hot and insistent, familiar and sorely missed. Damn the man. It took more effort than he'd ever admit to tear away. “What are you doing?”
“What I want,” Tilo replied. “As much as you keep insisting otherwise, I've never done anything I didn't want to do.”
Rochus tried to shove him away, glaring when Tilo refused to be budged. “Yes, because if you had happened to be in that tavern on any other night, you would have sought out a crusty old necromancer. I don't understand how you can lie so smoothly in one breath and be so abysmal at it in the next.”
“I'm a terrible liar,” Tilo said. “Everyone tells me so. I told you, I'd never met a necromancer before. All I knew was gossip. I went that night to—”
“To see if you could stand—”
“No!” Tilo said, letting go of his shirt just long enough to thump Rochus on the chest. “Would you let me speak? Not to see if I could stand to go through with anything. To make certain I wouldn't gawk like an idiot or ask stupid or hurtful questions or anything. I was hoping to meet a necromancer to make certain I could act properly and maybe even impress you. I got, um, distracted. Then I learned your name and realized I was in trouble no matter what I did.”
Rochus kept hold of the hand Tilo had been foolish enough to loose from his shirt and started trying to pry the other one off. “I see.”
“No, you don't!” Tilo replied and withdrew—then grabbed him up and slammed him onto the table. Rochus was too stunned to do anything, which gave Tilo plenty of time to climb up on the table, straddle him, and pin his wrists. “You still think I'm lying.”
Rochus let out a ragged breath. “In your defense, no one has ever argued quite this… ardently.”
Tilo gave a toothy smile. “I'm telling the truth. Do you seriously think I make a habit of approaching men I think won't give me so much as a glance?”
“Habit? I doubt it, as busy as you've been trying to kill yourself,” Rochus retorted, “but I find it hard to believe anyone has ever turned you down.”
“You tried,” Tilo replied.
Rochus sighed. “There are still a lot of old fashioned types around who think necromancers are better off dead, or at least severely maimed. You'd have hardly been the first pretty youth sent to coax me to an unwise location. Let me up, this table isn't comfortable
.”
“No. Not until you believe me.” The scowl on his face looked more like a pout, and despite everything, Rochus almost smiled.
“I believe you,” Rochus said. “But whether or not you wanted to fuck me doesn't change the fact that you are less than half my age and I am tired—” Tilo cut him off with a kiss. Rochus responded reflexively, unable not to respond to that sweet, hot mouth—but then reality returned, and he bit down hard on Tilo's bottom lip, causing him to jerk back. “Stop it.”
“I'm old enough to make my own decisions,” Tilo snapped. “If you don't want me, fine, say so and I'll leave you alone. I don't want to fuck somebody not interested in me any more than you do. But it's not your job to make my decisions for me.” He scowled harder when Rochus didn't immediately reply, but then the look faltered. “Unless I misread and you don't—”
Rochus sighed. “This would be so much easier if I didn't.”
“So why are you arguing? This is the happiest I've been since this mess started, and it's not every day I get a handsome gentleman in my home and plenty of time to enjoy him.”
“Given I'm currently on a table in the kitchen, I'm a bit concerned about how you want to enjoy me,” Rochus drawled, refusing to be pleased by Tilo's words because that was what had gotten him into this mess in the first place.
Tilo grinned, all teeth and triumph. He then ran teeth over the place where Rochus had bitten him and finished the job. The smell of his blood hit Rochus like a wave, and before he could say anything, Tilo's mouth was back on his, eager and determined.
And Rochus just didn't have it in him to keep fighting. “We're not doing this on a kitchen table,” he said when he finally managed to pull away. “People cook and eat here.”
“This isn't a ploy to get away from me?” Tilo asked.
“No,” Rochus said.
Eying him warily, Tilo nevertheless let go of his wrists and climbed off.
Rochus sat up, slid off the table, then stepped in close and curled a hand into the hair at Tilo's nape, drawing him in and lapping lazily at the traces of blood on his lips. Tilo reached up, but Rochus grabbed his hand and pulled it around to curl about his waist. “Slow down, kit. There's no need for urgency here.” He lapped at Tilo's lips again, then pushed into his mouth for a long, leisurely kiss that left Tilo trembling against him.
Stepping away, mouth curved in a satisfied smile, he said, “Lead the way.”
Cheeks pink, Tilo grumbled something about smug show-offs and brushed past Rochus to lead the way upstairs. He stopped on the landing, however, and dragged Rochus in to press flush against him. “Do that again.”
Rochus chuckled and obeyed, cradling Tilo's face and giving him another slow burn kiss, tasting every crevice of his mouth, drawing back to lick and suck at his lips before gently pushing in deep again, over and over until he left them both breathless.
And it was only a kiss, but Tilo already looked half-fucked. His pupils were huge, giving him a dazed look enhanced by the flush that had never really left his cheeks. “I like those kisses.”
“Age has its uses,” Rochus replied, maybe still a little bit smug.
Tilo snorted and rolled his eyes. “You make forty-three sound like ninety-three. And you're a necromancer—even ninety-three isn't terribly remarkable for your kind, right?”
“So they say, but most necromancers die of reasons that have nothing to do with age long before the theory is tested. I'm lucky I've lived this long, honestly.”
Tilo made a face and leaned up to kiss him again, hungrier and harder, but Rochus had no complaints. Except that they still weren't anywhere near a bed. Drawing back, ignoring Tilo's protests, he headed the rest of the way upstairs and then through the halls to his bedroom.
Inside, he closed the door and leaned against it, then for once, allowed himself to look his fill.
Tilo stared back at him. “What?”
“You're beautiful.”
Face flushing darker than ever, Tilo said, “I'm not remarkable. I look like every other dragon and exactly like my father. Not like—”
“A creepy old necromancer?” Rochus pushed away from the door and prowled toward Tilo all the same, tugging at the laces of his shirt.
“You're unique,” Tilo said, splaying his hands across Rochus's chest as he drew close, the word coming out a bit breathless. As always, he was hot to the touch, the warmth sinking into Rochus's chest and spreading through his body. “Everyone says necromancers look like corpses, but you don't, not even a little. I don't understand why people say that. I've seen corpses. You look more like you're carved from pearls and onyx.”
Rochus could not remember the last time he'd felt so flustered. Or speechless. He shuddered as those hot hands slipped beneath his shirt and danced across his skin. “It's the teeth that do it, really. People can take me being pale, but the black teeth…”
“They've obviously never met northern dragons, night wolves, or gargoyles,” Tilo replied.
“You've met all those but not a necromancer?”
Tilo made a face. “My father tended to only piss off people he could survive, but they showed up to pick fights frequently. Given how far he had to go to con people…” Tilo shrugged. “I've seen a lot.”
“Yes, I suppose you have,” Rochus said. “One would think it would improve your problem solving skills.”
Tilo narrowed his eyes, then all of a sudden, Rochus was being soundly manhandled again and spread out on the bed much like he'd been on the table several minutes ago. “Just because I must weigh nothing to a dragon doesn't mean you can toss me around—” The words were cut off by an artless but eager kiss, all teeth and tongue and hunger.
Far be it for him to argue. Keep arguing. Whatever. His arms and legs were effectively pinned so Rochus made the most of his mouth. Tilo seemed to have a weakness there anyway. He took back control of the kiss slowly, matching the hungry tone then mellowing it one teasing stroke or nibble at a time, until Tilo was trembling against him and his panting breaths were interspersed with the softest whimpers.
Tilo finally drew back, eyes like a bonfire, and licked his lips. He loosened his grip and Rochus tugged his hands free. He smoothed one hand along Tilo's chest, relishing the heat, the soft skin, the way Tilo moved under his touch. Tilo captured his hand again and leaned in to kiss him.
Blood filled Rochus's mouth, and he drew back with a groan. “You do that like it's the most natural thing in the world.”
Tilo frowned slightly. “Do what?”
“Give me your blood,” Rochus said, chasing his mouth when Tilo pulled too far away, fisting a hand in his hair and dragging him right back down where he wanted. “That's like the teeth: tends to distress people.”
He hadn't thought Tilo's eyes could blaze brighter, but fuck if they didn't turn into an inferno. “I like it. Feels possessive, like you're staking a claim, hoarding something no one else can have.”
Rochus ignored how much he liked that idea and settled for more kissing, scowling when Tilo wriggled free a few minutes later but mostly because the wriggling was primarily against his cock.
“Clothes,” Tilo said. “Get rid of yours.”
“And how am I supposed to do that when I have a dragon on top of me?”
Tilo shifted back and tugged him upright enough to strip off the shirt, then pushed him back down and grinded against him, mouth sucking and kissing along every strip of bare skin he could easily reach.
“Tilo!”
Looking up only long enough to smirk, Tilo began to crawl down Rochus's body, leaving a trail of fire in his wake. Deft fingers unlaced his pants and pushed them away enough to get Rochus's cock out, then that scorching mouth dropped over it and sucked even better than Rochus remembered.
“You're evil. How did I forget how evil you—” he broke off with a groan as Tilo sucked harder, fingers working into the edge of pants to score and prick with the tips of his claws. He pulled away, causing Rochus to swear loudly. “Get back here.”
&
nbsp; Tilo laughed. “Patience.”
“Shut up,” Rochus replied and tried to grab him.
Tilo just laughed and pulled his pants off, cast them aside with the rest of their discarded clothes. “That's better.”
“It'll be better still when you get back to work.”
“One more moment,” Tilo said and retrieved his own pants long enough to pull out the small bottle stowed in them.
Rochus glared at him as he climbed back on the bed. “Did you come downstairs planning this?”
“Yes,” Tilo replied and took a long lick of Rochus's cock. “Can I fuck you?”
“I should hope so if you're not going to resume sucking.” The look in Tilo's eyes then, Rochus would have agreed to anything. “For someone so impatient earlier, you're certainly taking your time now.”
Tilo kissed him, draped across him hot and heavy, giving Rochus plenty to touch. He squirmed away a few minutes later, though, fingers teasing over Rochus's cock before he slicked them and dipped to tease other places. Rochus spread his thighs wide, giving him plenty of room—and swore, nearly coming off the bed, when it abruptly wasn't fingers swiping across his hole. “Tilo—”
That got him a brief husky laugh and then Tilo was right back to it, tongue lapping and then pushing in. Rochus moaned, head pressing hard into his pillow, hand holding tightly to the sheets. The last time someone had done this to him, he'd been young and not a necromancer.
“How did you—” he broke off to moan again as Tilo worked in a finger, “—learn to be so evil?”
Tilo's free hand dug into his thigh, and then he drew back to work in two fingers, mouth wet and gleaming from his efforts. “I told you, we used to get a lot of visitors. Most of them weren't much better than my father; others thought they'd use me as revenge or something. Some were nice, though, and them I was happy to play with and learn from. None of them were like you.”
