Taji From Beyond the Rings

by R. Cooper

  Compared to the others, Trenne nearly seemed calm. His ears gave him away, straight and alert—his ears, and the knife that pointed down but was still ready to use. Trenne had seen more battle than most of these Shavians ever had or would. He might not have found this the same test of his control, but he had been running on the Mirsan equivalent of adrenaline for most of the day, with animals and nobles happy to see him or his team dead. Now Taji was out here where he shouldn’t be.

  “Do not tremble.” Trenne’s voice was husky, as if he hadn’t spoken above a whisper in hours.

  Taji wanted to tell him it was the cold, his bare feet on the damp stone. But maybe it wasn’t. “You honored me.”

  Trenne put his hand against Taji’s cheek before sliding it to the back of Taji’s neck. Taji could feel the tension in his hand but it didn’t stop him from closing his eyes. Trenne hadn’t stayed alive for him, he knew that. But Trenne had worried.

  “I’m fine. I was protected.” Taji dipped his head to let Trenne know he had permission to pet the knobs of his spine and run his rough fingertips over whatever skin he could reach, which was a lot. Trenne’s clothing was big on him, and something told him Trenne’s mind had finally cleared enough for him to notice what Taji had chosen to wear.

  “Taji,” Trenne exhaled his name with so much shock and amazement that Taji squirmed for him. Trenne wouldn’t want that overheard by anyone here. But of course it was.

  “I doubt the human is content to stand there with you, hurat,” someone called out.

  “Humans bond through touch.” Trenne’s tone was close to biting, but he was shaking too, minute tremors Taji felt when Trenne stroked the shell of his ear. “I will give him what he needs.”

  Taji opened his eyes and was hit with the full force of Trenne’s interest.

  It was how Elii looked at Larin.

  Taji went weak in his good knee and curled his fingertips greedily into Trenne’s warm skin. He should be thinking of saving Trenne, not using him like a mindless, hungry shehzha who had every right to.

  “Fuck,” Taji said the word and bit his lip hard as if the pain would do anything. Everyone had said it, but he hadn’t really thought it would happen. All the Sha elite were listening, if not watching, and Trenne wanted him—wanted someone. Taji should get him out of here and worry about the rest later.

  But he couldn’t stop touching. And Trenne kept letting him.

  He ducked his head and there was Trenne’s cock, thick and growing thicker, shiny and wet at the tip in a way that made Taji’s mouth go dry.

  IPTC reports on Shavian sexuality ran absently through his brain. The first articles had been brief, full of notes like Shavians have sex for pleasure and procreation, as well as offering the tantalizing: Shavians do not have cultural shame about sex. Later reports were more detailed and yet still vague, saying only compatible with humans and many other humanoids. Then came the medical information from the I.P.T.C. itself, after recruiting its first Mirsans and Shavians. Articles on the reproductive system that, while useful, had not really been of interest to Taji, though he had been relieved to discover spiked and bifurcated penises were not a part of their anatomy.

  He had fucked other sentients before. But quick and dirty encounters were not the same as Trenne naked in front of him, in daylight, with dozens of people around who might be equally aroused at the idea of fucking a shehzha after a hunt. Or maybe they were aroused to see Trenne, who was absolutely beautiful and no amount of prejudice could hide it.

  Taji tried to drag his gaze away, to stop imagining how something with those nodules would feel inside him, and focused desperately on the continuation of Trenne’s markings above his hip. They probably went around to Trenne’s back, possibly graced the curve of his ass.

  “You are so pretty,” Taji told him breathlessly, still staring. Someone around them made a noise, possibly shocked. Trenne exhaled. Taji’s palm itched with the need to feel more of Trenne’s skin. Maybe he was a natural shehzha, because he was on fire with embarrassment but he wasn’t stopping. “You are,” he insisted, and ran his hand over one cluster of markings. “Practical, useful muscles that I happen to find attractive, but your coloring is pretty, Trenne.”

  “Hurat,” Trenne murmured.

  “Mine,” Taji answered, thoughts a haze, then jerked his head up, startled. But he couldn’t meet and hold Trenne’s stare with so much longing in Trenne’s expression. Taji was so hot his eyes were stinging. “Can we get out of here now?”

  “Yes,” Trenne answered, low enough to send shivers down Taji’s spine. “I will give you all that you want.”

  It was a dangerous thing to say to someone like Taji, who would ask for everything out of curiosity, if nothing else. Trenne raised his head and dropped his hand to Taji’s side. He held the other one out, and it took Taji far too long to realize he was being offered the knife.

  Trenne must want his hands free, so Taji took it, carefully, and someone around them made that shocked noise again. He frowned as he looked out into the crowd, at Talfa and their friends, at the servants and Larin.

  The gray and black shapes on either side of him moved, distracting and confusing. Taji twisted around and then both of Trenne’s hands landed heavily above his hips and made him go still. Trenne’s voice was soft. “If you do not want me to carry you, you will have to walk, Taji shehzha.”

  Taji’s leg went weak all over again, but he nodded and stumbled forward. He belatedly noticed Nev leading the way and the Imperial Guards close, almost hiding him from view. He looked down at Trenne’s muddied, bloodied hand on him and put his own over it, marveling at the difference in size, that this was happening.

  It seemed very silly that he was walking when he could be carried. Dignity didn’t matter when their audience had already seen him make a fool of himself. But words were complex and language hard, and when he finally said, “Hold me up?” it was in the faraway Anglisky accent dialect of his home planet and no one here would understand that.

  Perhaps his uneven steps spoke for him. Trenne curled an arm around his chest and Taji remembered all over again that Trenne was naked and emotionally aroused and barely holding onto his control, and that every single person in Laviias expected them to fuck for the next few hours. He didn’t put a hand to his cock, but he did breathe in, hoping the oxygen would help him be rational.

  When they were alone, he reminded himself. When they were in their room, he could speak.

  “Fuck it,” he whispered. No one could be expected to walk under these conditions. “Please carry me.”

  He barely had the sense to keep the knife safely tucked away as he was lifted off his feet and held to Trenne’s chest. Some of Trenne’s skin had a chill from the outside air, but most of him was warm. He was filthy, bleeding. Taji should care more about that.

  “We’ll clean you up first,” he murmured dreamily.

  Trenne’s mouth was in his hair. “Yes, Taji shehzha.”

  Nev cleared her throat, jolting Taji back to reality. She opened the door to their room for them, one eyebrow just high enough to ask Taji a silent question, but probably not enough to be remarked upon by the two Guards.

  Taji shook his head to reassure her, and then he and Trenne were inside the room and Nev was closing the door firmly behind them.

  Trenne inhaled deeply before he spoke. “Taji.”

  Taji should say something, calm Trenne or himself. “Are you hurt?” He should be bothered by that—and he was. But he turned his head, intending to ask again, and his lips brushed Trenne’s shoulder.

  He didn’t care about the dirt, but this wasn’t for him—not entirely. Though Taji was a hundred times worse than Elii because his mind was clear and he was still this way. Natural shehzha. Trenne’s shehzha. And Trenne wanted a soft and perfumed ideal, at least once.

  Taji tried again, not certain what language he used. “Let me wash that from you.”

  “Taji.” Trenne shuddered. His arms tightened around Taji, then relaxed. “Yo
u do not need to do this.”

  Taji realized his mouth was open against Trenne’s skin and snapped his head up to meet those delicate, wild eyes.

  He spoke as clearly as he could. “I want you.” Trenne knew that already; it still made Taji burn with embarrassment at how obvious he had always been. “I want this. But I don’t want you to…to feel bad, later if you…if you are rough or needy, too.”

  “Taji—”

  “Trenne,” Taji’s voice was shaky, “let me give this to you.”

  Give was the word they used, so he used it too. He lowered his voice, though no one had ever wanted him to be seductive and he was not sure how. “You honored me so much. Please.”

  Another shudder went through Trenne’s body but then they were moving toward the small bathing room. “I am not him. You do not need to beg.”

  He placed Taji carefully on his feet, and Taji tipped his head back. Trenne watched him with an intensity that was still a shock.

  “I have been begging,” Taji informed him sharply, the bloody knife still in his other hand. “And now you are trying to convince me that you don’t need this, or that I shouldn’t, but I have already bathed for you, Trenne. Do you understand? I am ready for you. There is something sweet-smelling in my hair and at my pulse-points. My skin is oiled and soft. I’m not…” Taji briefly faltered but there was no denying the truth. “I’m not beautiful or Sha or noble, but I want this. I was not lying out there. I’m not lying now. For today, or as long as it lasts. We’re friends and I want…fuck. Would you hesitate if I were better? If I were Sha?”

  “The Sha would never touch me.” Trenne’s quiet reply scraped along Taji’s every nerve. He pushed forward, blood and dirt be damned, the way he had that morning in front of everyone.

  “They want you,” Taji accused them all in absentia, practically hissing. “But you aren’t for them. You honored me.”

  Trenne answered as though nothing about today was a performance: “Yes.” He placed his hand against Taji’s neck. He was trembling. “I should not.”

  Taji went wobbly with surprise and relief. “No one has ever wanted to give me anything.”

  “Everything,” Trenne pronounced the Anglisky word harshly before wrapping his fingers around Taji’s wrist and raising his hand. It brought the knife between them.

  Taji blinked at it, too wound up to fully process its meaning although it clearly had one. “You’ll give me everything?” His entire body was pounding. He gripped the knife handle tighter. “I’ll want everything. I shouldn’t.”

  “Shehzha,” Trenne told him in answer. Taji should take the time to unpack that too, to discuss all of this without hysteria and lust and constant fear clouding his judgment. Or he could just give Trenne this because none of those things were going to go away, and he wanted it so much, and for the moment, Trenne needed it.

  He pulled closer, face to Trenne’s chest, mouth to his skin. “Your shehzha,” he agreed, and shut his eyes before risking a taste. The tremors wracking Trenne increased. Taji kissed Trenne again. “Trenne, please.”

  Any other time, Trenne would have known what Taji was doing, begging like Elii when shehzha were not supposed to. He would have known, and flicked his ears, and possibly indulged Taji anyway if it was in his power to do so.

  Trenne was not playful now. “Tell me what you want.”

  Nerves struck Taji silent for several terrifying moments. Then he remembered long nights in his lonely room in the capital, his slick fingers a short time ago. “Fuck me.”

  Trenne turned them so Taji’s back was pressed to the wall. Taji thought they were within the space beneath the water, but bathing was now the last thing on his mind. He held his breath then released it, shivering helplessly even before Trenne slipped his hands beneath Taji’s borrowed shirt and into his waistband. His gaze did not leave Taji’s face.

  Taji had the unbelievable thought that Trenne expected him to change his mind, so he stared right back although his strained breathing was audible. Then he couldn’t help himself. “You’re so pretty,” he complained again. He put his hands flat to the wall, his knuckles against the stone when he refused to drop the knife.

  Trenne crowded into him, breath hot through his hair, palm sweeping over Taji’s hip. Taji’s loose pants fell to the ground. Taji stepped out of them without thought.

  “I…” Trenne smoothed restless circles into Taji’s skin. Taji didn’t think it was meant to calm him. “I will have to pick you up.”

  Taji nodded his consent and agreement. He also thought the bed was too far away. “No pain later, you said,” he reminded Trenne breathlessly, although he assumed that aspect of the bond took a while to come into effect, like the rest of it. He had painkillers; he would manage any aches or twinges.

  Trenne’s hands slipped to Taji’s thighs. He was still shaking and it had nothing to do with lifting Taji off his feet. Taji tried to spread his legs and Trenne pushed between them even as he protested, “I am too big.”

  Taji looped his arms over Trenne’s shoulders and then dropped a hand to Trenne’s side. He locked his legs around Trenne’s bulk as best as he could before he raised his head. He wanted to stroke the side of Trenne’s face and touch each marking, but he couldn’t let go of the knife if he tried.

  “You wouldn’t be my Trenne if you didn’t worry,” Taji told him with probably too much fondness. “But this isn’t about me, even though I want you. Everyone warned me—the broken, little human shehzha—and I was eager, Trenne. But I slicked myself up so you could be rough. Be big. Be whatever it is that scares the Sha so much. I like the thought,” Taji added, eyes closed. “I like it as much as I like my Trenne. I will beg if you need me to.”

  “Your mouth,” Trenne answered almost feverishly and lifted Taji’s hips.

  Taji grunted, uncomfortable in the best way, his chest tight. “That, too,” he promised, although from the short, harsh sound Trenne made, that was not what he’d meant.

  The brush of fingers across Taji’s rim was a small shock, but nothing like the bolt of lightning when Trenne made that sound again.

  Taji had been very thorough with the lubricant, using up every bit. “Ready, see?” he prodded, already panting, and the muscles under his hand went tense.

  Trenne took a step forward, getting more of Taji’s back against the wall. Taji didn’t get a chance to catch his breath before Trenne moved his hand and replaced it with his cock. There was no blunt head, only girth and length and the bumpy nodules Taji had noticed before. Trenne pushed in slowly until the first of those. Then he stopped, breathing carefully.

  Taji’s eyes were shut. He was vaguely aware of a high, steady moan—his high, steady moan—and Trenne’s voice, low and worried and perfect.

  “Taji shehzha,” Trenne breathed, stirring Taji’s hair. “Taji, tell me, please.”

  Taji was too full to speak. He shook his head tightly, then nodded. He dug his fingers into Trenne’s skin.

  “Breathe, peha,” Trenne ordered, reaching into Taji’s chest to break his heart.

  Taji sucked in air, loud and gasping.

  “Words,” Trenne pleaded. “Give me your words.”

  “More,” Taji managed. His face felt wet. He pushed it against Trenne’s skin. “Doesn’t hurt, not like that. More.”

  “My honor.” Trenne’s voice was different, or Taji’s hearing was. His blood was throbbing, his hip aching, and his every nerve singing. Trenne braced him before pushing in deeper.

  Taji was tighter than he’d thought, or Trenne was larger, and each nodule was exquisite agony. His groan was guttural and slow. More lube next time, he decided faintly, clinging to Trenne’s neck, the knife nearly slipping from his fingers.

  “Ah,” he said out loud, and then again, higher each time. Trenne hadn’t bottomed out but he also hadn’t stopped his steady rocking motion. Taji had a moment of fiery jealousy for those other humans who had taught Trenne about prostates, then he was moaning again.

  Taji wasn’t moving. He w
as no courtesan, but he could normally actively participate in a fucking. But Trenne had him and there was nothing to do but feel.

  “Trenne,” he whispered hoarsely. This couldn’t be what Trenne wanted or needed. Everything was spiraling and they’d barely started. Taji hadn’t once touched himself. He was going to come from this—the thick cock filling him, slow, torturous pressure, Trenne’s soft voice telling him to.

  This was a wild Sha, or maybe a wild Trenne. Taji was suddenly, fiercely grateful for it. His cheeks were wet, his breath a strangled rasp between his moans. He felt a failure of a shehzha and tossed his head, trying to hold on, but then lips brushed the shell of his ear.