FOUR Lurenz
FOUR
Lurenz
It was late in the afternoon before Lurenz returned to the house, not that it was difficult to stay away.
Managing a farm was hard work, and there were all manner of chores to complete before winter set in.
The fence at the edge of the field needed mending, a fox had begun digging a hole under the chicken coop, hay needed pitching and bundling, meat needed salting, tools needed mending.
The work was unending, moreso now that it was only the two of them.
So Lurenz worked, exerting his body and his wild imagination in all the labors the farm demanded, only trudging across the yard when his belly protested in anger.
Warmth blasted his wind-chilled cheeks as he stepped indoors. He hurried to the hearth, peeling off his gloves and warming his hands by the fire before shrugging out of his coat.
A large cot filled the far wall of the room, piled high with blankets and pillows. Valentin’s rucksack sat at the foot, the ties undone as though the Senn had just been digging through his things. The idea of having just missed him filled the room with the ghost of his presence.
Did he warm himself by the fire, as Lurenz did? Roll his sleeves to the elbow as Onna offered him mulled wine or a hunk of bread and butter?
Or did he sit on the edge of the cot, knees canted to his chest as he dug through his pack for a clean shirt, or a hat to cover his curls before tromping back to his herd in the barn?
“Oh! There you are.” Onna swept into the room with a basket of laundry balanced on her hip. She reached for the clothesline hooked on the wall, and Lurenz batted her hand away, freeing the thin rope from its hook and guiding it across the room. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
She set the basket down and shook out a damp shirt before pinning it to the line. “Valentin paid us in advance.”
“I am sure he did.”
“He said you were no good with numbers.”
“That’s not what I said.” He stretched out a pair of woolen breeches far too big to be his own.
All too aware of Onna watching him, he cleared his throat and pinned Valentin’s breeches to the line.
The rope sagged under the weight, and Lurenz hurried to the far wall, tightening the clothesline to keep Valentin’s laundry from dragging on the floor.
“I said you were more adept at haggling, and would tell me I charged too much.”
“I am, and you did.” Fabric whipped and snapped and Onna hung another pair of breeches, sized for a human man, next to Valentin’s. “But thank you for the compliment. He is very generous, and easy to bargain with. Offered us milk in exchange for a warm bath twice a week.”
“And the laundry.” He hung a vest and sent her a pointed look.
“That I offered for free.”
“Onna!”
“It is only the two of us, what is another pair of breeches?” She bared her teeth at him in a grin. “Fresh linens and clean trousers are the least we can do to make up for you being awkward all winter.”
Lurenz glared at the wad of handkerchiefs clutched in his hand. He shook them out, pinning them to the line with more force than necessary.
“I know you do not wish to hear it,” she continued, “but you should be friends. A farmer and a cowherd, it is only natural.”
“He is a Senn.”
“And you are a smelly man. At least Valentin has bathed today. And has plans to bathe again in the near future.”
Lurenz retrieved one of his shirts from the basket. How to explain his thoughts where Valentin was concerned? How to ease his sister into the struggle he suffered just by being near the large, powerful, handsome—
“The village built a wall through the grazing fields,” she continued. “It is obscene that we charge the Senn for use of our barns in the winter. The herds ought to be able to roam where they wish.”
“And turn the soil too soon?” Lurenz argued. “Gouge the earth and churn up rocks to bend the plough when I till? The wall is there for a reason.”
“Yet it did not keep Valentin from sleeping in our barn.” She snapped a pair of trousers at him.
Water misted Lurenz’s face. He wiped it away, glaring at his sister.
“Imagine! Sleeping in the barn, huddled with his herd to keep warm.” Lurenz did.
Lurenz had, all through his chores, his mind wandering to Valentin on his knees, gazing up at him. “And you were so rude.”
“Since I am so awful, I will take my rudeness elsewhere.” He ducked under the line, and stomped away.
“I’ve a stew simmering for dinner,” she called after him.
“I will eat in my room.”
“And fresh bread from Herr Wessen, as a thank you for the eggs.”
“Good.” He gripped the railing, taking the stairs two at a time.
“And I’ve drawn you a bath.”
He stopped halfway to the second floor, exhaling and dropping his head. “Thank you, Onna.”
“You smell, and we have a guest,” she replied. “Please bathe before the water runs cold.”
The stairs creaked as he descended, stepping behind Onna and dropping his chin on her shoulder. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” she hummed, and ducked out from under him. “And I was not teasing, you stink. Go bathe, and join us for dinner.”
“Fine.” He cuffed her shoulder and spun away.
“There are fresh towels by the door.”
“Thank you, Onna.” Lurenz crossed through the kitchen, pinching a piece of bread from the loaf and popping it into his mouth. The bathhouse shared a wall with their kitchen, built by their father years before as a gift for their city-born mother.
Frau Meier had adapted well to farm-life and their small village, but certain luxuries, like warm baths and rich foods, she never gave up.
In the leanest months of the year, when dried meats and preserved vegetables were all they had, Lurenz vividly remembered her trudging bucket after bucket of water from the well to the bathhouse, adding rocks to whatever tinder she could find, and filling the room with delicious steam.
“It is good for the muscles, and the mind,” she would say, working knots out of Herr Meier’s shoulders, or massaging soap into Lurenz’s hair.
The habit stuck with her children, and Lurenz happily admitted that a warm bath after a day in the field was worth every bucketful of water and the cost of soap.
Steam curled beneath the door, climbing the wood and filling the short hallway with the floral scent of his mother’s favorite soap.
Lurenz smiled, sore muscles anticipating sinking into the large copper basin.
He undressed quickly, and grabbed a towel from the basket, sighing as he stepped into the steam-filled room.
Setting his towel on the chair beside the door, Lurenz reached blindly for the basin’s edge.
“Bless you, Onna.”
Water splashed.
Lurenz froze, and a low voice rumbled, “Hello?”
“Oh, Gods.” He backed away, heel catching on the chair’s leg, and his back hit the wall. A burly limb swept through the steam, clearing it away to reveal Valentin rising in the basin.
“Oh,” Lurenz gasped. “Gods.”
Water beaded along his shoulders and dripped from his horns.
Firelight glinted off the ring in his septum, and cast dancing shadows over every glistening muscle.
Lurenz tried to cover his face, to turn his head.
Instead he sank down the wall, covering his stiffening cock as his eyes drank in every delicious bit of Valentin, joining this new wondrous sight with the memory of him on his knees.
At the sight of the Senn’s heavy cock, thickening between his thighs, desire flooded Lurenz’s cheeks
“Oh, Gods,” he exhaled, mouth running dry despite the humid air.
Valentin snapped out of his shock. He blinked, shoulders hitching, but he did not move. His throat bobbed and he licked his lips. For a brief moment, those honey-amber eyes drank Lurenz in, lingering on his face before sliding lower.
“I’m sorry,” Lurenz croaked.
Valentin dropped into the basin. Water splashed over the side, dousing the floor and Lurenz’s feet, sizzling on the heated stones. “No, I am sorry. I must have dozed off and I—the steam is—and the heat. I’ve never. A bath.”
“You’ve never bathed?”
Valentin whipped his head around, eyes blown wide. “I have bathed.”
“In a sauna, I mean,” Lurenz scrambled to explain. “A proper bath house.”
Valentin pressed his mouth tight, and shook his head. Strong fingers gripped the basin’s rim and he hauled himself half over the edge to grab the towel from the chair.
Lurenz’s towel.
He rose swiftly, tying it around his waist as he stepped from the basin. “There’s water. There.” Valentin pointed to the row of buckets, eyes never leaving Lurenz, still puddled on the floor, naked, with a hand over his crotch. “I will leave you to it.”
And he did.