Chapter 20
CHAPTER 20
Nearly One Year Later
T he Aldrien Warlord didn’t like me, but the only thing he ever forced me to do was his washing, well, and his boot polishing. Just put all things related to caring for his suite and clothing and weapons under that category. I don’t mind the last one so much, it brings me back to the days of being my father’s squire.
What became certain was that I was never leaving Aldrien. I was Andothair’s prisoner, and I would serve his brother by performing domestic duties, which I’m terrible at by the way. I’ve had servants my whole life. I can’t do laundry to save my life. And blood is a bitch to get out of clothing, did you know? Anyway. Soon, I would make a trade for Diekin.
Elves are polyamorous by nature. This doesn’t mean they can’t be possessive as Corrik was. But I didn’t understand that then. I didn’t understand myself.
I loved Corrik, but I have always been conflicted about us and it was destroying me. I was irrevocably drawn to him, but I didn’t choose him, not at first. We were bound by duty. Technically I was marrying Markaytia to Mortouge—not as easy as it might seem no matter how hunky the Elf. This sat heavily within me along with the knowledge that I would never escape Aldrien.
It’s complicated. I’ve always chosen Markaytia and my family first, but I desperately needed something that was for myself. I came to realize how much my father’s strict rules helped my peace of mind and without them, I was going mad.
Bayaden was harsh and we bickered, and he pulled my brat from me like nothing else. Yet, I was calmed by him. I needed him. He, of course, wouldn’t do a thing until I’d fully consented to it—other than make me press his shirts, which I definitely do under coercion—but once I had, he was exactly what I needed. He’s been holding me together.
It went something like this…
Months and Months Ago
“ T ristan, come.”
Bayaden has only recently begun speaking to me as often as he does now in Markaytian, and I’ve only recently begun speaking to him in Elvish. The bastard knew what I was saying all along but forced me to learn Elvish claiming the Markaytian language beneath him. I knew he could speak Markaytian, most Elves can, but he’d speak to me in Elvish anyway and the language barrier made us want to rip each other’s hair out—what’s left of my hair that is. Now he speaks Markaytian whenever he wants something right away and doesn’t desire to go through the hassle of trying to get me to understand his complicated tongue. The Aldrien dialect is far easier to learn than the Mortougian, but it’s still difficult.
“I’m coming, I’m coming,” I say under my breath. Bloody, demanding Elves. In all my life, I’ve never met a more vainglorious, self-entitled race.
“Suck my cock, now.” He’s lying on the bed with his hands behind his head looking like the prince he is. His long dark hair mocks me, fanned around him—like mine used to .
“Where are your manners?” I say. Bayaden might bring out the brat in me, more than Corrik does.
“You’re a servant and a human servant at that. I don’t need manners—now get to work. I’ve had a long, exhausting day, I need to relax.”
And I’m responsible for his relaxation. Got it.
Removing my pants as I make my way over to the bed, I crawl from the end of it, up to his spread legs, and swallow his cock in one go—I’m quite practiced in the art of fellatio now. I make it good, running my tongue along the shaft, I run my lips down the length and suck hard as I pull back up his body. His hips push forward, his cock hits the back of my throat and instead of gagging, like I used to, I moan. I can’t help it. Sucking him like this makes me feel good. I like it, my cock likes it, my body is hot as he continues to push into my mouth with controlled thrusts. His black curls scratch my nose. He spreads his legs wider, and I grab the smooth skin of his balls and tug with just enough force as I suck and feel him climb closer to orgasm. His hand is in my hair, and he slams his cock into my mouth over and over. This time I do gag, I can’t breathe as he chokes me with his cock. I struggle to get away, but I can’t; the Elf is much stronger than I am. I can do nothing but be choked by his enormous cock, wondering if I’ll ever breathe again.
Maybe this is how I’ll die.
I feel the first twitches of his orgasm and then his come shoots down my throat. I’m only just barely able to swallow it all, before I need to take a breath so badly, I have to push at his hips in a desperate attempt to get away. He holds his grip on my head, welding it to his cock. I hear him cry above me as I begin to faint. He pulls out of me, and I gasp at the air, racking it into my lungs in large gulps. My cock is still rock hard.
I cough and thank the Gods for sweet, sweet air and feel some of the come that I missed, dribbling down my chin as I try to regain my breathing rhythm. His foot reaches out to kick me and I fall off the bed and to my place: at the side of his bed on the floor .
“Bayaden!” I scream, still coughing. He’s laughing.
“What? You’re supposed to pat someone on the back when they’re choking.”
“That wasn’t a pat on the back and that’s not what you’re supposed to do to someone who’s choking, you prat!” I say amidst my coughing fit.
“Oh, come here then.”
“Is that an order, my lord?” I never call him that unless I’m being a facetious asshole and I am now—he knows it.
“In fact, it is. Come.”
I pull myself up onto the black sheets and stay by his feet. I don’t care to be too close to him, the feeling is mutual—we have the same kind of a relationship a cat and a dog living in the same house would. We’ve chosen to tolerate each other because we are tied to the same master: Andothair. Me, because I’ve made a promise to Andothair so Diekin will be kept alive and Bayaden because he respects and honors his brother. Andothair is the eldest and will succeed their father as king someday in the distant future, if something ever happens to the Rogue Elf king. Bayaden is Aldrien’s warlord. He’s in charge of training all of the warriors in their kingdom. I’m certain it’s yet another way for Andothair to taunt me. Andothair knew of my wish to fight and now I am the “manservant” to his warlord and brother, I don’t think that’s a coincidence. I’ve not figured out what Andothair has against me, other than my race, but his every action tells me it’s something big. Bayaden is of no help on this matter. Either he knows nothing, has no interest, or will not betray his brother—it’s more likely all the above. Besides, I’m most certainly not one of Bayaden’s confidants.
“That was very good, I feel much more relaxed.” His eyes flick to my engorged member. “Does that need seeing to?”
“I’ll manage.” I can’t help but look him over even as I decline his offer. He’s a beautiful man, much more so than Andothair who is nothing short of sublime. Bayaden is larger than Andothair despite him being younger. He spends far more time training; his body is strong and I’m sure it’s cut from iron. When he moves, he stalks, each limb calculating where the one after it should go for best economic gain. He studies things: the air around him, the light, the people as a good warrior should, but he does so instinctively and with delicate grace. If he were not on the field at war, he would be a dancer. Contrary to the brutal tact he fronts himself with, he’s got quite the sense of humor, but unfortunately, he shares his people’s dislike for humans and most of the time his jokes have me at the center of them. He does attempt good form on occasion and when his brother is around. All in all, he’s not as mean as he could be and he treats me fairly most of the time, well, for a slave. It’s more than I expected and more than I wanted.
“You did well at practice today too.”
“Is there a reason for all these compliments?”
“No. I just thought … you look unhappy, my brother has noticed.”
“Really? And he cares?”
“Apparently.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know,” he says in bored tones as he gets up and puts on a pair of pants. “But I’m tired of hearing about it so sharpen up, will you?”
I lie back on the bed. My body is bruised and battered. The Elves are hard on me; they don’t care that I’m human or if they hurt me, only if I’m damaged irreparably. They’ll answer to Andothair for that.
“That lot over there needs to be washed. See to it and bring me some dinner.”
“Will that be all?”
I’ve kept many servants and in all my life, I’ve never had to lift a finger for these kinds of chores so I’ve no gift for it—I’m a terrible manservant. It drives Bayaden crazy .
“No. You’ll polish my boots—all of them—and then I wish a bath in my chambers.”
“I can’t possibly do all of that. I’m exhausted Bayaden.”
“Then next time you’ll think twice about being insolent.”
“I thought I just relaxed you.”
“Well now I’m agitated again.”
“What happened? Why were you agitated in the first place?”
“Because Andothair breathes down my neck,” he hisses. “He wants warriors trained faster than is possible; he’s impatient of late.”
“Why would that be?” I say to myself getting off the bed and dressing so I can attempt to do the prince’s bidding. It’s the first intriguing thing I’ve heard in all the months I’ve been here. Maybe I’ll ask Andothair if I may visit Diekin. Bayaden hasn’t said by what time he’d like these chores completed, perhaps he’ll have his knickers by noon tomorrow if he’s lucky.
“How am I to know? He doesn’t see fit to tell me and even if he did, I wouldn’t tell you.”
Huh. I didn’t think he heard me. I still forget about the superior hearing of Elves from time to time.
“Don’t look like that. Shouldn’t you be getting on with it?” he says.
“Right, your highness—boots to polish and all that.”
“And if you’re going to take your time with everything else, at least bring my dinner straight away. I’m more likely to be agreeable with food in my stomach.”
I move to leave out the door, my mind far away from my aching cock or his dinner preparations.
“Aren’t you forgetting something, Tristan?”
“Oh. The laundry. Right.”
“I swear. You have got to be the world’s worst servant.”
Not going to argue with that. I duck out the door. Besides, I’m thinking on what he’s given away because he considers me a pathetic human, incapable of intelligence. Andothair wants more warriors and just because I’m not Warlord anymore, it doesn’t mean I’ve stopped thinking like a Warlord. I know the only reason for more warriors is war. It won’t take me three guesses to count on that war being with Mortouge. I remember what Diekin said about the Rogue Elves once being of Mortouge and that they were banished long ago.
I decide to seek Andothair.
On my way, I drop the load of washing in the washing queue.
“Hold my place, will you Mary?” I blink at her prettily.
All the Elves are pretty, and I usually forget that amongst them I’m a troll. I was admired by both men and women in Markaytia.
She pretends not to be pleased. “I’m tired of doing favors for you, Tristan, but all right.”
Mary is a human, like me, but she speaks fluent Elvish, unlike me (I’m getting there) but I can understand her now. “Thank you. I’ll owe you for this,” I say in my best Elvish.
I rush off to Dagenham’s Hall. It is a good place to find Andothair before dinner. I tell the guard Andothair is expecting me, which he is not, but I’ve no consequences to worry about. He lets me in. Andothair is with his father.
The two brothers resemble their father, but Bayaden has a rougher edge to him unlike Andothair, who is more like King Caer Gai that way.
“Warlord? To what do we owe this intrusion?”
“You’re planning to attack Mortouge.”
“How good of you to notice.”
“You can’t do that—you’ll start a war.”
“Don’t be stupid. We want to start a war, otherwise, why attack?”
“Why?”
“If you knew anything about Elven history, you would know—why don’t you go study or something? Quit coming in here to bother us with trivial matters.”
“Don’t you think I’ve enough to do with running around after your brother? And I wouldn’t call war a trivial matter. I can’t let you do this. ”
The king laughs at me. “And how will you stop us? You are human.”
“You both underestimate me.” Corrik had too, they all forget I have a dragon running ‘round in my blood.
They both laugh at me now. “Run along and play, Tristan,”the king says. King Caer Gai doesn’t seem to like or hate me. It’s as though he thinks me his son’s cute little puppy that is a mere nuisance at times and a fun source of entertainment at others.
“Fine.” I’m not going to get through to these two and I’ve got the confirmation I wanted. “May I visit with, Diekin?”
“Want to make sure we have not killed your friend?”
Something like that. “You can’t be trusted.”
“Very, well. You may take him his supper. Now be gone. We have work to do,” Andothair says.
Perfect.
After I see to the Prince’s laundry and thank Mary for holding my place in line, I’m off to the kitchens. I know they don’t feed him well, to keep him weak. Since I’m gathering food for the prince as well, I take liberty and steal some of the prince’s heartier food and place it onto Diekin’s tray as well as a bowl of stew. It means the prince will get less, but I don’t care.
“Food for the prisoner,” I say by way of announcing myself. The guards would have me grovel at their feet; it angers them to no end when I don’t. I stalk by them, and one reaches out to grab my arm and pull me to him, my tray almost crashes to the ground but I’m able to recover my balance.
“Well look what we have here,” he says in a smooth voice. In my first days in Aldrien, they didn’t know I was Bayaden’s manservant, nor did they care. Even when I made it clear where I was from, some would refuse to speak to me in my home language on principle—like Bayaden.
When Bayaden finally gave me his collar to wear, with his crest on it, they sometimes paid me the “honor” of speaking to me in my home language. More often, they’d tease me in their own, but I showed them and picked up quite a lot of their language. Unfortunately, and fortunately, their dialect is much easier to learn than Mortouge’s—the Elvish language I would’ve liked to have mastered—so now much of my accent is that way. I’ve been here far too long.
“Leave me be or I’ll tell Andothair of this.” The guards fear Andothair. I’ve long since stopped allowing my pride to interfere and use this excuse to keep them off my back. Protecting my pride only gets me beaten, it’s not worth it—usually—though there have been a couple times that were.
The guard releases me but pushes me hard enough to leave a bruise; I just barely catch the tray before the food is lost. “You won’t be the prince’s toy forever you know. He’ll grow bored then I shall request you.”
This is where I would normally insert a snarky comment, or three, but I have a mission in mind.
“Until that time,” I say and hold my head high, sticking my hand out for the key. Once I’ve got it, I move down the dark, cold halls of the dungeon and twist my way to the heart of it where Diekin is kept.
“Diekin? Pssst . Diekin?”
“Young Warlord?”
“Yes, it’s me,” I say as I open the door and move past him. “Here, Diekin. I’ve brought you good food. Eat .”
He smiles at me like I’m incredible. “Thank you, Tristan. Your care of me over these past months will not be forgotten. When I’m out of here …” He rarely calls me Tristan and he still speaks of getting out of here.
I don’t even know if our entourage made it. I assumed I would’ve heard some word about them being in the area, looking for us, but I haven’t. In any case, Diekin doesn’t know that I’ve long stopped looking for a way out because I can never go to Mortouge—not now—I’ve betrayed Corrik for too long and I’m an embarrassment to his home and mine. Besides, if Corrik is dead, is there any point in me going there? I was to be Corrik’s mate; Mortouge has little use for me after that. No. When the time comes, and I will make sure it does, I’ll get Diekin free, and I’ll stay. I’m too much of a disgrace to even consider going back to Mortouge or Markaytia for that matter.
“Diekin, I’ve learned that they plan to attack Mortouge. I don’t know when, but we’ve got to get you out of here.”
“Us.”
“What?”
“We’ve got to get us out of here you mean.”
“Right. Us.”
“Tristan, I know you mean to get me out and remain, what I don’t know is why.” His body is cold and his eyes like razors. “What have you done?”
“Eat, Diekin.”
“I’m not a fool, young Warlord, c’mon. Try me out.” A bit of his old light shines through the bold warrior and it makes me want to tell him. He knows there is something. I can’t lie to him anymore, but I can’t tell him the truth either, so I go with a little of both. I’ve hated coming down here all this time and keeping my secret—the one he senses looming over me.
“I’ve done something unforgivable Diekin. I’m not worthy of Mortouge now and can never look Corrik in the eyes again.”
“Whatever has happened isn’t your fault and Corrik will understand—he loves you.”
“Maybe, but I shall never forgive myself. We don’t even know if Corrik is alive, what purpose is there for me in Mortouge then?”
“You are a fool if you think like that.”
“I’ve been companion to the young Prince Bayaden all this time.” He’s not getting it, so I lay it out for him.
“I know. Andothair told me. You did it to save my life; he gave you few options. I wish you would have let me die, but I am grateful, Tristan, and I will stand by your side when you tell Corrik because you will one day. I believe he is alive. He knows how noble you are, and that given the choice you would sooner die than allow a friend to die—and that’s exactly what happened. Besides, Elves do not hold the same moral code as humans. All will be well, Tristan.”
I nod and keep the other secret to myself. Diekin is an optimist, but even he would think as I do if he knew the other part—Elven morals or lack thereof aside. “Keep up your strength, I’m going to get us out of here. I have a plan.”
Diekin eats. “Brave words for a mere human in a valley full of Elves with sharp teeth.”
“I have something they do not.”
“Dragon’s blood.”
“It’s nice of someone to finally notice.”
“Right, but how does this dragon’s blood work?”
“You’ll see.”
“ Warlord. ”
He’s suddenly dropped the “Junior” from my title too. I can’t allow that. “Not you too, Diekin. How many times do I have to tell you? I’m not Warlord.”
“You are wrong. You are Warlord now. A war is upon us, and you seek to take up the first battle with an army—albeit a small one—at your command. You are my Warlord, Tristan, and I am honored to serve you.”
I suppose there will be no talking him out of this one. “Let us hope I can prove worthy of those words, Diekin.”
“You already have, Warlord,” he says with a hearty smile, eating his stew.
I’m glad that by the time he realizes how one is to use the power harnessed by dragon’s blood, I will be dead.
“ T here you are—it’s about time,” Bayaden says in Elvish, but I understand him perfectly well.
I place the food before him. “Maybe you shouldn’t have given me so much to do, my lord. Now, if you’ve no further need of me,” I say in Markaytian.
“Sit down, Tristan.” He switches to Markaytian, not in the mood to play games tonight. He’s never invited me to sit with him before. I’m immediately suspicious.
“Have you eaten?”
“No. I’ll get something from the kitchens later,” I say when he offers me his bread.
“Why do you take nothing from me?”
Why does he suddenly care? He’s never cared before.
“Because it is unnecessary…? Andothair provides me with everything I need.”
“Yet I am your master,” he says.
“You are.”
“Then I will provide for you. Come to me with your needs from now on. That’s an order.”
“Yes, Bayaden,” I lie smoothly. He can think what he likes, but I’ll never ask him for a thing and right now I need Andothair.
“Here,” he says and holds out the bread again. This time I take it, but don’t eat it. “Damn it, Tristan. Must you be so stubborn?”
“My papa used to say I come by it naturally.”
He puts his spoon down; he’s had enough of me. “The Gods help me; I can’t figure you out.” Hopefully he never will. “I know one thing. I know you will go to my brother tonight. I know what you will ask for and that you are ashamed of it. There are few secrets between us, Tristan.”
“What of it?” I say, my dragon’s blood beginning to boil. I know Andothair holds no confidence with me, but I am no less enraged to have other people know of my sins.
“Allow me to take his place. ”
“No.”
“I could force the issue, you know.”
“Then force it. I will not consent to it.”
“Why him and not me?”
“Mostly because he did it first. It makes little difference who does it, but I’ve already betrayed Corrik with one person, I’ll not add to that list.” I do not add that I’m possibly only respecting his memory; I like to think as Diekin does, that he’s alive, but then why hasn’t he come for me?
“Betray Corrik? What nonsense, Tristan. Is it not my cock that’s up your arse every night? Is it not my bed you sleep beside? You belong to me now and betray me by going to Andothair.”
I laugh uncomfortably. I don’t like where this is headed. Since I’ve come into his “care” he’s hated the very air I breathe, resented having me in his presence and now he wants to discipline me? “Those are semantics. You know as well as I do that we tolerate each other for Andothair’s benefit. Remember what you said to your brother? Remember what you said to me on my first day in your service?”
He shakes his head, but he knows as well as I do the length of Elven memories. He wants me to say it so he can deny it. Fine. “You said and I quote, in Markaytian I might add, ‘you can’t be serious Andothair. He looks like something the sea washed in.’ You then went on to tell your brother you were insulted by his choice of servant for you, and you warned me to keep my distance lest you are forced to do something only I shall regret.”
“I never said any such things,” he denies as I knew he would. “I know my brother holds more power than I do with the Elven courts and while it must be terribly exciting for a meager human such as yourself, I will be seen as weak in front of my warriors if you continue to submit to him.”
A likely story. “I thought Elves were promiscuous? Isn’t it natural for them to have many partners before they mate?”
“Has my brother entered you?” He ignores my questions, his good humor flares to anger.
“No, Bayaden, calm. I only go to Andothair for discipline. I promise.” I can’t believe I have to defend myself in this manner. Honestly, what’s gotten into him tonight?
“For a moment I thought he had lied to me, though you have no reason not to lie to me.”
“I’m not lying about that—swear on my aunt’s grave. Why should you care anyway? I’m a disgusting human.”
“I told you already. I care about how it looks to my warriors. I’ll not have you embarrass me.”
“I shall endeavor not to embarrass you then, Highness.” I can only look at my dry piece of bread. Bayaden is as caught up in these games Ando begins as I am, tied to it by his moral duty to his people and his family. Bayaden and I have much in common.
“If you’re not going to eat, at least leave me to eat in peace.”
“I thought you wanted a bath?”
“I did, but I can no longer stand to look at you. I’ll go down to the bathing hall to take my bath. Someone far more competent will help me there.”
I pretend that I’m insulted by that, when in truth, I’m relieved. One less duty for me to worry about and he’s right; the men and women servants in the bathing hall are far more competent than I.
I leave and it’s when I’m halfway down the hall I remember I left the bread he gave me on the table.
I t’s late when I knock on Andothair’s chamber doors. “Enter.”
He’s standing over his desk looking at a large map. “Ahhh, Tristan. I’ve been expecting you. Sit.”
I’m not a fool. I know he isn’t inviting me to sit in a chair. I take my place by his feet and kneel properly as Corrik taught me. Sometimes I pretend he’s Corrik. “What have you done this time?”
“Do you really want to keep hearing about the things your brother has me do to him?”
“You still feel guilt over that?”
“I shall always. I’m a married man, Andothair, whether you believe it or not—whether Corrik is alive or not.” I’ve given up asking him what was done with my Corrik. My ring is gone. It’s been gone since I arrived and I assumed Andothair took it and disposed of it before he woke me from my magic-induced slumber once we arrived at the border of Aldrien, in Hemkilli. I never asked because I knew he wouldn’t tell me anyway—there were still some ways to save my pride.
He considers me a long time and for a moment I’m stupid enough to believe he’s thinking about what I’ve said. “You are quite beautiful, for a human. I can almost find what he sees in you when I look hard enough.”
“You were intent on killing me, now you hold me captive—why?” I’ve asked him this every other night and every other night he evades my question, but I have a feeling about tonight—tonight he’ll give me a truth.
“Corrik has something I want.”
My heart skips a beat. He said has as in Corrik’s still alive. At least I dare to hope it; I must make sure. “You think by holding me ransom you will get what you want? You don’t know Corrik very well, do you?”
“I know Corrik better than you think,” he says, grabbing my chin hard. “Get out. I cannot look at you tonight.”
No one wants to look at me tonight, but Corrik is alive. Corrik is alive. He wouldn’t talk like that otherwise. The knowledge does strange things to me; the shame is suffocating. “Andothair, please. I need you.”
“I do not care what you need. You are lucky I do not give you to the dungeon guards.”
“Ando, I beg you. Please. ”
“ Out .”
I storm back to Bayaden’s room in a mood that boils my dragon blood. I’ll kill him; kill him. How dare he reject me like that? The only counter to my shame has always been rage.
“Problem, Tristan?” Bayaden is naked as usual and sits on his bed reading. He’s the most unusual Warlord I’ve ever encountered. Judging by his relaxed demeanor, his anger has cooled from before.
“Your brother, he wouldn’t, uh, do the thing.” I can’t say it.
“Discipline you?”
“Yeah, that.”
“What did you do? He isn’t easily angered.”
“I think it was something I said about Corrik.”
“Ah.”
“What do you mean, ah?”
I don’t expect an answer, but I get one and I suspect it has to do with whatever his issue was earlier. “He and Corrik used to be a thing, didn’t you know?”
“You’re lying.”
“What reason would I have to lie to you?”
“How is that possible?”
“Before you, it was very possible.”
“Like, together—together?”
“Is there another kind?”
“But Mortouge and Aldrien hate each other.”
“Corrik and Andothair dreamed of forging an alliance one day. They met in secret. I doubt King Vilsarion knew, but our father knew and encouraged it.”
“What happened? Why did they split up?”
“You.”
“Me?”
“Corrik had his vision of you and abandoned all thought of my brother—it broke his heart.”
“That’s why he wanted me killed. ”
“Yes.”
“But that wouldn’t have won Corrik back. Corrik would have hated him.”
“You’d be surprised what time can heal and the time of an Elf is long. We are immortal, Tristan,” he reminds me.
“So why didn’t he kill me then?”
“That has me as puzzled as you. He gave you to me though so you’re mine now. Whatever his reasons before, he won’t kill you. I won’t let him.”
“I don’t care about him killing me, I care about him killing my friend.”
“He won’t. I won’t let him do that either if that is your wish. Will that make you happy?”
“It will.” I don’t know why he suddenly wants to make me happy, but if he will protect Diekin, I’ll take it.
“I shall see to it then, now, come. I’m in need of my manservant—you’ve been missing longer than you were meant to be.”
“What is it you require, Bayaden? I’m tired.” I move over to the bed and take a seat next to his feet as I normally do.
“Too bad. Undress.”
I sigh loudly so he’ll know how put out I am but remove the light pants that are my only clothes. He motions me toward the headboard. “Lie back.”
My cock is already hard at his words, the order soothes me, but it’s not enough. I need the discipline Andothair gives me to dissolve my guilt over doing these things with Bayaden, long enough so I can do these things with Bayaden. It’s a fucked-up cycle, I know, but here I am.
I watch him pour lubricant onto his long fingers. I hiss when he slathers it onto my cock and my desire takes over. “I didn’t take care of you earlier.”
“You needn’t bother, Highness,” I force myself to say, but it feels magnificent. He strokes his hand up and down, rolling the foreskin of my shaft over the head, the lubricant thick and slippery.
“That’s it, Tristan. Remain still. I am in control of your cock. Keep your hips down. Yes.”
“Please, Baya … Please …” I don’t know if I’m begging him to stop or continue. His hand feels itchy in a wonderful way and a burn builds down my groin and up my cock, then his other hand is fondling my balls.
“Do you like that, Tristan?”
“ Yeesss .” There’s no denying I do and the shame I feel because I do is there alongside my impending orgasm, the shame increasing the ache in my cock. I feel a finger at my entrance as his hand releases my balls and spread my legs wider to accommodate whatever thing he’ll do. His finger doesn’t enter all at once, he slips it in, only to the first knuckle then slips it out again, gathering more lubricant. His other hand is still stroking my cock slowly. If I’d only known the lovely sexual tortures of Elves sooner, I may have begged Corrik to take me with him the first day we laid eyes on each other.
Yes, I still think of him, especially during sex, but not too often—it hurts to think of Corrik. Because it doesn’t matter that he is alive, I’ll never see him again. I’ll never get to tell him what I should have long before now. About how I can no longer dream, but relive the short time we had together, every night as I fall asleep. I fought having any sort of a connection with Corrik, but we did on a level I’m only beginning to understand by being away from him.
I’ll die in Bayaden’s bed, a human, still dreaming of my days with Corrik.
But I’m not so maudlin as to continue this line of thought while I’ve got Bayaden’s finger inside my arse and one hand on my cock—if this is my life now, I’ll enjoy it, whatever it will be.
“I know you want more, Tristan, you have but to ask.”
“Please Bayaden.”
“That’s right—Bayaden. I am your Master now. Say it.”
“You are my Master now.” I’ll say whatever he wants me to say, he is the fool if he believes my words.
I don’t know if he believes me, but he adds another finger. I place the soles of my feet flat on the bed and spread wider to give him more room. It’s driving me mad not to move and I strain with the effort of keeping my body still. “Gods, Bayaden! Fuck me please.”
“As you wish.”
He takes his hands away, but I’m only bereft for a short moment and his large cock is slamming into me. Bayaden is a rough lover, always. He enjoys the rawness of sex, the animalistic side. I can see the animal in his eyes as he takes me, his hands become claws down my back, the pain soars to another level and takes me to a greater sexual high. He does the things that I know Corrik wanted to do, but didn’t, afraid it would scare me away from him. Bayaden has no such worry. He simply takes what he wants and the Gods help me, I enjoy it.
His lips are on mine and I freeze. He’s never kissed me quite like this before. I see little option, but to kiss him back like I don’t notice the change, and his hand is wild in my hair as his cock continues to fuck into me over and over. I’ll be sore tomorrow. I usually am. He’s unforgiving, angry, and possessive, yet somehow those feelings have transformed into caring. Bayaden cares about me. How could that have happened?
“Come, Tristan. Come for me,” he says, as he rakes his nails down my back again. The pain spikes my arousal and I do come in white, hot spurts all over my stomach and his. He still pounds his cock into me with sure, steady strokes and releases his seed into me as he lays me back on the bed and finishes off inside me before he collapses on top of me.
I don’t know why I do it, but I bring my arms around him and move the hair from his eyes gently. He’s still inside me, his cock still hard—Elves have stamina like I’ve never seen—come is leaking out from around his cock in my arse as he stares off at the wall, his head on my chest. I continue to run my hands through his hair, and I realize, fuck . Somehow, I’ve come to care about Bayaden too. He may be an arrogant prat, but he’s not a terrible creature. He’s acting as he thinks he’s meant to; he’s got a moral duty to his father, brother, and to his kingdom. I understand well, and put in his position, I’d do exactly as he has done. I can feel the weight of that duty upon him, and I allow him to let it go for the moment and put it on me.
We spend long moments locked together until he kneels up again, renewed. He slides a hand through my short hair and brings his face close to mine, pulling me into a long, slow kiss. His kisses are unlike how he fucks me—the complete opposite. They’re gentle and tender and say what’s in his heart.
“I need you again, Tristan.”