Chapter 17
Chapter seventeen
Petur
Deyvid healed regrettably fast. Not that Petur was sorry to see his lover well and whole again, riding his horses without a wince and firing his bow without the momentary hesitation that came from the tug of a scarred and overly stressed muscle.
All that was well and good, but invariably—inevitably—it meant that the time that had belonged to just the two of them was almost at an end.
To think, Petur reflected bitterly as he watched Deyvid apply a fresh coat of marlroot dye to his skin, taking it from the palest gray to a healthy nut brown, that there had been a time in his life where he’d thought it might always be the two of them.
To look back on how naive he’d been … it was almost too painful to contemplate.
Deyvid had always been far more realistic than him, but Petur hadn’t wanted to hear it.
At least Deyvid wasn’t rubbing it in, unlike Tania, who’d been both obliquely and directly making references to Petur’s upcoming marriage every moment they were in the same room together.
“When Prince Symon comes—”
“Upon your fiancé’s arrival—”
“I dare say that after your wedding—”
And so on and so forth, until Petur’s better nature was strained to the point of fracture, and he had to excuse himself from his sister’s presence in order to stop a fight from breaking out.
It wasn’t like he could win that fight either.
Not if he wanted to keep Deyvid with him.
The three of them were in a precarious détente, the kind he once would have relished breaking.
But now, well … if putting up with his sister’s smugness was her price for Deyvid’s presence in his life, Petur would pay it, over and over.
“‘You’re glowering.”
“Nonsense,” Petur said automatically, defending himself by rote. “‘I never glower. It promotes lines.”
“And yet there it is upon your face,” Deyvid replied easily, brushing a warm washcloth over his limbs to remove the residue from the dye.
Petur watched him work, eyes lingering on the raised, jagged scar tissue on his right hip, the latest in a long line of scars Deyvid had accumulated on behalf of the Alloui family.
He shuddered and moved his eyes back up to Deyvid’s face.
“‘Hmm. You missed a spot,” Petur said, pressing to his feet and moving over to the table beside the bath where Deyvid was working. He dipped the dye cloth in the thick liquid, then raised it up to Deyvid’s face.
“Close your eyes.” Deyvid did, so obedient and trusting that Petur’s heart clenched as he wiped the edge of the cloth over Deyvid’s eyelids, careful not to let the liquid seep into the corners of his eyes.
He touched up the shell of his ears, the point of his jaw, and finally rubbed it across the back of his neck.
“‘There,” he said once he’d cleaned up his handiwork.
Deyvid gingerly opened his eyes, then relaxed when no stinging occurred. “What do you think?” he asked with a curve of his lips. “Do I look like a real Riyalian now?”
Petur’s heart clenched in his chest as he considered the question.
It was meant to be lighthearted, fanciful, nothing but a little tease, and yet …
“No,” he said hoarsely, “‘No, you don’t. No matter what you wear, or how you change your skin, you look like exactly who you are. I would never want you any different.”
Petur wasn’t earnest very often, and he knew such a display of emotionalism would have Deyvid wondering what was wrong with him.
He surged forward, cutting off the concern with a harsh press of their lips together.
Deyvid’s hands rose steadily to curl around his shoulders, one of them tangling in the hair at the base of his neck while the other pulled him tighter.
Ten years, and their kisses still held the same passion, the same intensity they’d always had.
Ten years, and Petur couldn’t imagine anyone better suited to him than the man he held in his arms.
“I want you,” he gasped between kisses. “Deyvid, I want you.”
“You have me,” Deyvid assured him. “I’m here, I’m yours.
I’m always yours.” He meant it, Petur knew, and it hurt his heart to know that he couldn’t give Deyvid the same confirmation anymore.
Like it or not, once Prince Symon came to Delomar, Petur would have to share himself: his presence and patience if not his heart.
He needed the man who would be his husband to want to work with him, and that meant giving him things that Petur wished could only belong to Deyvid.
“Fuck me,” he said breathlessly.
Deyvid’s brow furrowed, not from distaste but from surprise. “‘Are you sure?” he asked, and Petur understood. This wasn’t a request he made very often, not when they were so fond of it the other way around, but …
“You’re going to be riding for days on end,” he said, keeping his tone as light as possible, “whereas I’m going to be doing nothing but stalking the palace grounds, looking for threats that might not even exist. I want this,” he added sincerely. “I want to feel you with me even when you’re gone.”
Deyvid’s eyes softened, and he pressed one more tender kiss to Petur’s lips before saying, “Get on the bed, then.” Petur went, and after a moment, Deyvid followed, a glass jar of a thick, familiar unguent already caught up in his hand.
“I appreciate your preparedness,” Petur joked as he stripped off his clothes.
“Hopefulness,” Deyvid corrected him.
“You never have to simply hope, you can always just ask.” As if Petur would deny the man he loved anything.
“Hmm.” Deyvid, already nude, stalked over to where Petur was lying back on the bed, a smile curving his lips. “But there’s something to be said for spontaneity.”
“Spontaneity, yes, delays, no,” Petur snapped. “I tell you I want to be fucked, and you stand there staring at me like I’m some kind of—mmm.” He had to swallow the rest of his complaint as Deyvid stretched across him, bare skin pressed together in a smooth, sensual glide as they embraced.
Deyvid’s hands slid beneath Petur’s hips, hitching them up so that he rubbed against his lover’s groin.
Their skin was dry, almost painfully so, but Petur loved the feel of it.
He loved the intensity, the desperation of it, the need.
He loved the way that it took Deyvid’s act from calculated seduction to turbulent longing.
He liked kissing him so hard that he left Deyvid gasping for air, liked to hold him steady and fuck up against him until his lover almost forgot what Petur had asked of him in the first place.
Almost. Then again, Deyvid had never been one for forgetting, and Petur wasn’t surprised when Deyvid finally tore his mouth away and slicked his fingers.
“Don’t go easy on me,” Petur said, and Deyvid grinned, fierce and hungry.
“When do I ever go easy on you?” he purred, then slid two fingers straight into Petur’s ass without preamble.
Petur stiffened like he’d been stabbed, the intrusion jarring and unsettling.
It was always like this when he bottomed, though, and part of what he appreciated about it was how it was a disruption of their normal, quotidian lives.
It was moments like this that he could recall later with perfect clarity—those fingers pressing deep and hard inside of him, finding and rubbing against his prostate until Petur’s flagging cock was stiff as a board and dripping onto his stomach.
Deyvid leaned down and sucked the head of his cock into his mouth just as he added the third finger, and Petur groaned in abject need.
“Fuck me,” he huffed. “Oh gods, stop teasing me and fuck me, fuck me now. I need, I need it, I need it.”
And because Deyvid knew him so well, he knew that this wasn’t the time to tease; he only raised his head, pulled his fingers free, and slid inside of him.
Petur squeezed his eyes shut, desperate to capture every moment of it—the harsh glide of Deyvid’s cock within him, not overly slick, just enough drag to make him feel every inch of it.
He panted with the need to take Deyvid like this, the need to feel him as deep as he possibly could, to be owned by him, to belong to him now …
If not quite ever again.
“Fuck,” he whispered. “Fuck, Deyvid, please.”
“I’m here,” Deyvid promised, kissing the center of his chest as he pulled his hips back, then pressed inside again, so slow, so controlled. “I’m here, I have you.”
For all that the initial entry had been harsh, now Deyvid went slow, steady, making sure Petur could feel every moment of it.
He fucked him until the flame inside of him began to rage, desire igniting like a forest fire, so fierce that Petur had to remind himself not to squeeze his lover too hard as the shifter inside of him strained to get out.
His eyes wanted to change, his teeth to lengthen, his claws simultaneously wanted to catch close and rend apart.
Deyvid bore it all, every hint of change, every huff of air, with a steady regard and a steadier body.
He fucked Petur perfectly until it was simply too much.
“Touch me, touch me, ah, ah, ah.” One quick, tight squeeze of Deyvid’s hand, and Petur was gone, tipping over the edge into a white, blinding bloom of ecstasy.
He couldn’t even tell exactly when Deyvid came, only that he had as he came back to himself and found Deyvid’s head resting on his chest, his breath coming low and unsteady, his own breath low and ragged as he pulled himself together.
“I love you,” Deyvid said hoarsely. “Gods, I love you so much. Please tell me you know that.”
Petur nodded his head as he closed his eyes, tears slipping out the corners despite how he loathed them. “I know.” He bit back the sob that threatened to break free of his quavering chest. “I love you too.”
Cleanup was regrettably fast and finishing the packing even faster. The escort for Prince Symon had to leave today if they were going to make Bekkon on time, and Petur was fully dressed in all his royal regalia as he saw his people off.
“Be safe on the road,” he said briskly, savoring the way his body throbbed; it was the perfect distraction from the dark places his mind wanted to go. “And for the gods’ sake, don’t get shot again.”
“I’ll do my best,” Deyvid assured him. “Make sure the adjoining suite is appropriately equipped for the prince before we get back, won’t you? See if you can’t get all the copies we have in the library brought to the shelves in there. I’ve heard he has a great love of reading, and—”
Petur waved the comments away. “He can arrange the room to his satisfaction himself once he arrives.”
“Petur,” Deyvid chided, “that’s not very welcoming.”
“I’m not a very welcoming person.”
Everyone in the party looked politely away as Deyvid closed the space between them, leaned in, and murmured, “All I ask is that you keep an open mind when it comes to this marriage. It might be, things might go better than you think.”
Petur wanted to scoff, but because this was Deyvid, he didn’t. “I’ll try.” That was all he could promise.
“Thank you.” Deyvid kissed him one last time, then turned and mounted his horse.
“Look after Commander Silver, there,” Petur called to the rest of the escort. “Make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid.”
“He would never,” one of their cheekier lieutenants said with a wink, and Petur smiled despite himself. He managed to keep the smile almost until they were out of sight. But an open mind? Hmph.
Then again, it had worked for him once before.
Perhaps Deyvid was right. Perhaps Prince Symon wouldn’t be as awful as Petur’s petulant side wanted to believe. Maybe, just maybe, the three of them would be able to make this work.
But he wasn’t going to hold his breath in the meantime.