Chapter 19 #2
Slowly, carefully, Griff shifted closer, putting his arms around Mal and drawing him into a warm embrace. Last night, with the help of the wine, he had understood how to be what Mal needed, but he didn’t think he needed the wine for that anymore. He could just be here. That seemed to be enough.
“I love you too, and you can tell me anything now,” he insisted gently.
“So go on, Mal. Go ahead and tell me how mad you were back then. How mad you are. Tell me all the ways I’ve completely fucked up.
But since I’m here to stay, at least let me hold you through it.
Let me be the one to hold you through everything from now on.
” Softer, he added, “And when you’re done telling me why I’m the worst, please tell me you love me again. ”
Mal brought his arms up around the ones that held him and buried his face in the dark hair near Griff’s cheek, though Griff still caught a glimmer of tears before his face was hidden.
“You’re the worst friend I’ve ever had,” Mal confided hoarsely.
“You chose fancy elf parties and singing their sad songs over me.” A frustrated exhale gusted over Griff’s cheek before he continued, “I used to think about you sometimes in Thrallkeld. About our hunting trips with the hounds, and swimming together in the Wood—and every time I did, I wanted to hurl myself in the river because I knew you were somewhere else hating my very existence. But I just couldn’t give you the satisfaction. ”
Griff held Mal a little tighter, and those wiry arms drew him in closer in return.
“You acted like you were so much better than me, with your nice shiny boyfriends and your stupid straight jobs, and I would have punched every tooth out of your mouth if Wynnie would have let me,” Mal declared with fiery certainty.
“I truly hated you.” His fingers curled upward, tangling in Griff’s hair, damp eyes finally meeting his again as he finished.
“And I loved you, even then. I love you now. I wouldn’t have minded if you’d come for me, to Thrallkeld, even when it was too late. ”
It felt to Griff like someone had knocked the wind from him as one of his longest-held fears and deepest regrets was confirmed.
“I won’t make any of those mistakes again,” he vowed quietly, taking his time so his voice wouldn’t crack.
“I should have told you how I felt a long time ago, no matter what I feared would happen. I should have listened to myself and ridden to Thrallkeld anyway. You’re worth it—you and your big plans, your foul mouth and worse temper.
” At last, Griff smiled despite his long-held anguish still simmering near the surface.
“I want all of it. Even when you didn’t know it, you were everything to me. You still are.”
“You are so getting a horse when we get back to Linden,” Mal murmured into Griff’s hair, the assessment of his temper and other qualities bringing a half grin back to his lips.
He ran a hand along Griff’s thigh, stopping above the bandages there.
“You’re probably going to need it, with a busted leg like this. ”
Griff’s smile widened. “I love you too. Enough to write a really sad elf-song about it. But I’d rather hold you, and …” Gently, he kissed along Mal’s jaw, eventually making his way to the other man’s lips. “By the way, this wouldn’t be nearly as pleasant if you’d punched out all my teeth.”
Mal snorted against his lips. “Not for you, anyway,” he muttered, teasing in his own way before deepening the kiss, like he was trying to make up for the one he had all but rejected earlier. “And don’t you dare sing any sad elf-songs about me.”
“Right,” Griff murmured into their slow kisses as Mal delivered that command. “Only dirty ones, and heroic ballads. Challenge accepted. Who wants easy, anyway?”
“Not me,” Mal said emphatically before catching Griff’s lower lip between his teeth.
“You must know what it does to me, the way you run your mouth,” Griff murmured, his bitten lips forming a smile against Mal’s. “Maybe I’ll write a song about that.”
“So that’s what you really mean, every time you call me an absolute shit,” Mal mused, running his tongue along Griff’s bottom lip to soothe any sting there. “You clearly learned your flowery way with words in the elves’ library.”
Last night, there had been a certain haste in Griff’s movements inspired by too many years of wanting.
This morning, it was tempered by his finally having had Mal in his arms for many hours already.
Although he hungrily returned each kiss, he took his time with each one too, savoring the taste, encouraging Mal to focus on him rather than his need to get back on the road as if that treasure were suddenly going somewhere.
His fingers were in no hurry either as they ruffled Mal’s hair until it was even more unruly than it had been when they woke.
Mal responded to that exploration of his hair with the shut-eyed groan of an animal being stroked just the right way, his tongue melting in the heat of each slow kiss, his hand at the base of Griff’s neck urging him closer, his other hand inviting Griff’s fingers to roam freely over his bare, toned chest.
It was a thoughtless moan from Griff’s own throat that eventually spurred him back into action, disentangling himself from Mal just enough to guide him gently down to the ground on top of his own discarded shirt.
He trailed his lips softly down Mal’s stomach while his fingers hooked into the waist of Mal’s trousers and gave an impatient tug, the buttons having mostly been lost the night before and the remaining few giving easily at the touch.
“Hmm,” he said, darting a grin up at Mal as he sucked a kiss over one of his now-bare hips, “And here I thought you liked things with teeth …” He grazed them gently over the skin beneath him as he moved lower still, causing Mal’s lips to part in anticipation. “So which is it?”
“I was wrong and you were right,” Mal breathed for perhaps the first time in his life, his eyes fluttering and his words running together.
“I do like your teeth right where they are after all. Nice teeth. Good teeth.” He wove his fingers through Griff’s hair, not pushing him lower with any impatience but making his own explorations in the meantime—first of those dark curls again, and then down along Griff’s shoulders.
“Ooh,” Griff growled over Mal’s inner thigh. “I like it when you tell me I’m right. I aim to impress. Now let me wake you up the way I should have done in the first place.”
As he started to run his tongue along the length of him, teasing the sensitive head with little licks and plenty of kisses, he gently squeezed Mal’s ass with both hands.
And when he was rewarded with a groan and a shimmy of the thief’s hips, he took a few inches of Mal into his mouth while trailing a slow, gentle finger into his cleft, caressing and teasing just like he was doing with his tongue.
Feeling Mal start to tense slightly, he immediately withdrew his hand, pulling off of him to pant, “Is this okay?”
“I … um. I’ve only done it the other way. And I … I think it’s my turn to impress you this morning,” Mal declared with a low growl of effort, drawing Griff back up into his arms and away from his spit-soaked hardness still in need of attention.
“Okay,” Griff reassured him softly, understanding more than what was being spoken.
This was too new, and Mal had never been touched like that before.
Never trusted like that before, or let himself be so vulnerable.
Griff wouldn’t bring it up again; he would wait until Mal was ready, and he would be there if or when that time came, because he planned on staying.
Eager to find out exactly what Mal had in mind instead, he settled into the warmth of the other man and watched as his lover spit into his hand, then took hold of them together in his tight, slick fist and gave a few slow, delicious strokes.
“Learned a thing or two about this while I was alone in Thrallkeld. Trust me.” Lips seeking Griff’s neck, he muttered against the skin there as he started up a slow rhythm between them, “Let me know when you’re starting to feel … impressed.”
And Griff did, when he found his voice again amid the wonder of all the tricks that hand knew, of the thrill of his own heat right up against Mal’s and the toe-curling friction they were creating together.
A little of last night’s urgency returned as the rhythm grew faster. Slicker, too, with both of them aching and dripping into the clench of Mal’s hand.
“I like it in your world, living by your rules,” Griff panted as he covered Mal’s neck and collarbone in little bites and kisses from nice, good teeth. “Think I’m moving in.”
Mal’s lips clung to his in answer—as if those kisses were a ladder leading out of the shadows of the past, promising someplace brighter.
Later—two rounds later, as Griff lay in Mal’s arms with no desire to get up and back in the saddle for a sore day’s ride—Mal was stroking his hair when he suddenly scooped up some fallen leaves.
He scattered the handful over Griff’s tousled curls, a grin slowly forming as he took in the sight.
“There, now you look like the elf you are. Have I told you how much I like your hair?”
“Maybe once or twice,” Griff admitted, “but I’ll never tire of hearing it.” He didn’t even bother to shake the leaves off, only laughed, probably looking like he’d just left a party with confetti all over him in the late morning light.
Mal’s grin widened at the sound of that laughter, growing until it was toothy and devious, just how Griff liked it. It was the kind of grin that made the nearest stagnant puddles glitter, as if Mal’s happiness somehow suffused this place with magic.
The thief held up his hands, index fingers and thumbs lightly touching at the tips to form a picture frame of sorts through which he glanced as if memorizing the sight of Griff from this new angle, his flushed face saying more than words.
“You know, when we get back with all those coins, I think I ought to buy you a bigger stove than whatever you’ve been using,” Mal declared warmly. “Something with lots of pipes and burners, since you like cooking so much. Yeah?”
Griff loved the sound of that—just like he loved the way Mal’s fingers were stroking along his thigh like he was thinking about another round.
“A new stove. A whole bunch of burners and … bigger, longer pipes and … that’ll be good, I think.
” His hot breath gusted over Mal’s lips, his mind not remotely on cooking.
“Maybe some bigger pots to go on it too. All kinds of bells and whistles. The biggest stove this side of the Teeth, right?”
“To go with the biggest bed anyone’s ever had, and the best pillows in Mayfair, which I’ve already—” Mal stopped suddenly, and Griff’s pulse picked up speed as he saw the way his lover’s eyes had widened just a touch at something in the trees.
“Shadow?” he mouthed as Mal disentangled himself swiftly and pulled on his pants. “But I thought—it’s Rhun, isn’t it? Even Alys seems pretty convinced now.”
Nodding, the blond man strode over to what, to Griff’s eyes, looked no different than any other pocket of shade.
But it must have looked like something else to Mal, who called back to Griff over his shoulder, “That’s right, but apparently he needs a reminder about healthy boundaries, because he is not welcome to watch anything that’s been going on between us this morning!
Or last night, for that matter. Not okay. ”
The way his voice kept rising made it clear he was addressing Rhun’s shadow too, and Griff couldn’t help but smile at the way Mal was trying to put a ghost in its place.
Running a hand over his red, flaky tattoo, Mal scowled, though the expression took on a touch of thoughtfulness as he turned away from that faceless version of Rhun. “I wonder …” he said, striding back to Griff’s side as if suddenly on alert. “Maybe he’s trying to warn us about something.”
He reached for his hunting knife, putting his other arm around Griff’s waist as he cast his most scathing glower into the surrounding trees and pockets of shade.
Overhead, a few ravens rustled their feathers and clicked their beaks as they settled into the borders of the trio’s camp, and Mal glared at them next before refocusing on Griff.
“Keeping you safe seems to be a full-time job. Good thing I’m a businessman and not afraid of hard work,” he declared, kissing some color back into Griff’s face that had been leached away by the suggestion of more danger.
“Who wants easy,” he said shakily against his lover’s lips. Except that he did, right now, rather than being hunted by more revenants and wading around in a swamp full of the dark queen’s creatures.
“We should pack,” Mal said, almost reluctantly for a change, once Griff’s shaking had mostly subsided.
“So we’re ready to go the minute Alys gets back.
Double the pace this afternoon, remember?
Though I really hope Rhun is wrong about the danger, or I’m wrong about why I keep seeing him.
Maybe he’s trying to lead us to better treasure. ”