Chapter Seventeen #2
And that was the end of it. Theos returned to his own campfire, and Finnvid turned back to his.
It should have been enough. Finnvid had thanked Theos, Theos had been typically ungracious, and now their association was over.
But later that night, as Finnvid watched the Torians head for their dens, some alone but others in pairs, he couldn’t keep his mind from wandering.
What would it be like to crawl into a den with Theos?
To share space, warmth, breath . . . to press against the man’s broad torso and long, strong legs, and to not be ashamed, because they had the excuse of needing heat.
Or not to be ashamed, regardless. To not look for an excuse, as the Torians didn’t. What would it be like to stretch his body out next to Theos’s just because they wanted to touch each other?
Two men together was unnatural. Men and women were built to fit, men and men were . . . wrong.
Finnvid crawled into his den, trying to ignore the cold, claustrophobic walls and trying not to wonder how much more pleasant it would be with some company.
He should be fantasizing about the shepherdess. She was an attractive young woman. Theos had warned the men to keep their hands off her, but he hadn’t mentioned their minds. Finnvid should be thinking about her.
He didn’t even remember her name, he realized with a start. The only woman for many days’ walk in either direction, and he’d noticed her so little he didn’t even know what she was called.
He wasn’t thinking about men—about Theos—because there were no women around.
No, there was more to his fascination. Lying there in his dark tunnel, he let himself admit it; there’d always been something fascinating about men, even before he’d come to Windthorn.
Back in Elkat there had just been confusing, quickly repressed urges.
He’d known he would marry a woman, and had looked forward to the event with a mix of optimism and dread.
He’d hoped that once he had the right body in front of him he’d stop thinking about the wrong bodies.
But if he didn’t . . . if marriage didn’t cure him . . .
He squirmed, trying to find a more comfortable position.
And he cursed his time in Windthorn. If he’d never traveled, he’d never have realized just how bleak his future would be if marriage didn’t cure him.
Never have realized what he was missing, Never have known how simple and perfect it could all be. How natural it was.
And now he was fighting to get back to Elkat. He’d really thought he’d be able to forget what he’d seen if he just got away from it quickly enough? He was a fool, alone in a cold, snowy grave.
He considered crawling out and going to find Theos. The man had wanted Finnvid; of course, Theos seemed to want practically anyone who wandered into sight. Still, that could be good. Finnvid had apologized with words, and maybe he could also apologize with his body . . .
No, it wouldn’t be an apology. It would be a plea. For forgiveness first, and then for so much more.
Finnvid knew he wouldn’t move. But he let himself imagine it.
A different Finnvid, braver and less confused, sliding out of his tunnel, reborn as a man who followed his own instincts, not the rules of his valley.
He’d find Theos, surprise him, and Theos’s body would tighten at first, ready, as it always was, to fight.
And there would be a moment when it wasn’t clear what Theos would do, but then he’d relax, his frown gentling from anger to amusement, and he’d pull Finnvid in next to him, and their bodies would align, their lips would meet . . .
Finnvid fumbled with his clothes, fighting to get through the layers to the pulsing heat at his core.
He’d refused to give in to the urges when he was sleeping in Theos’s room.
It would have been too real, too intense, to find release while the object of his fantasies was lying within arm’s reach.
And Theos was a light sleeper. If he’d woken up and realized what Finnvid was doing—it had been too terrifying, too tantalizing, to take the chance.
He’d barely wrapped his hand around himself before he was gasping, and then the images began flashing into his mind, too many, too quickly for him to focus on just one.
Theos in the baths, muscles everywhere and warm brown skin glowing with health and vitality; the Torian tattoo on his shoulder, the Sacrati brand on his upper thigh; Theos driving into someone, thrusting and groaning and shaking; Theos kissing someone else, rough bites and punishing strength; and then, the kisses with Finnvid, somehow gentler and sweeter than with the others.
Then Finnvid wasn’t seeing anything but brightness and beauty.
His body spasmed over and over, releasing his need and his desire into the cold snow wall.
He lay there, drained and exhausted, and for a few moments he thought he’d found peace.
Perhaps giving in to the fantasies had been enough to dispel them.
Then, unbidden, his imagination sent him the idea of having Theos there beside him.
He’d wrap a warm, heavy arm around Finnvid’s body, pull him in tight and safe, and they’d sleep entwined together.
And with that thought, the yearning was back.
But it was changed, now. He didn’t crave the heat and passion, at least at the moment; he wanted the warmth and affection.
He wanted to wake up with Theos, or even better, to wake up and find Theos already at the campfire so they could exchange sleepy, easy smiles like Andros and Xeno did.
So everyone could see them, and know that there was something between them, something special and pure and real.
That was where the fantasy fell apart, though, because there would be Elkati around the fire.
Some of the Elkati soldiers seemed to have accepted the Torian ways; Finnvid wasn’t completely sure that a few of them hadn’t indulged a little themselves.
Despite that, the dominant mood was still disapproval and disgust. If the Elkati felt that their prince had given in?
Finnvid couldn’t imagine their reactions.
His skin tightened and itched just at the thought of it.
The Elkati soldiers would be bad enough, but if they went home and told his brother? His mother?
All the lovely tranquility was gone, replaced with a mix of anxiety and despair. He could play whatever games he wanted to, in his mind. But he could never act on his fantasies, not in the real world. Not when he was surrounded by Elkati.
He’d lost his chance. When he’d been a slave, there’d been freedom. He and Theos could have done whatever they’d wanted without worrying about who saw them. But Finnvid had been too wrapped up in his own pride and fear and anger to take advantage of the opportunity.
And now it was gone. He was on his way home. In a few days, they’d reach the border and Finnvid would say good-bye to Theos forever.
It took him a long time to fall asleep that night, and when he finally did drop off, it felt like surrender.
He woke the next morning, slid out of his den and saw Theos sitting by the fire, stirring a cookpot.
The Sacrati glanced up at him, and everything fell away until it was just the two of them.
Theos didn’t smile, but he didn’t frown, either.
He just looked, and Finnvid looked back.
Then somebody nearby moved, breaking the spell, and Theos jerked his gaze free.
Finnvid froze, hoping against hope that Theos might turn to him again.
And he knew that, if Theos smiled, Finnvid would go to him, and sit with him and touch him in any way the Sacrati allowed, regardless of the Elkati audience.
Finnvid would abandon everything he’d known for a chance at something new.
But Theos didn’t glance back, and eventually Finnvid stumbled to the edge of the camp to pee, and the day went on as the days before it had. Finnvid was still trapped. But now he knew it, and that made it so much harder to bear.