FIVE Valentin
FIVE
Valentin
Lurenz did not appear for dinner, nor did he join Onna and Val by the fire.
Onna was pleasant company, asking after the herd and the summer season, and sharing gossip from the village before rambling about the murder of crows perched on the wall. It was not until the fire burned to embers, that she set aside her sewing and rose with a polite cough. “How was the bath?”
Val blinked from his reverie, guilty heat flooding his cheeks. She could not have known that he was lost in thoughts of his bath, and Lurenz’s appearance. Nor could she have known where his mind had wandered, painting the image of the farmer as clearly as if Lurenz stood nude before him now.
And what an image.
Val had been to the monasteries and convents in the upper reaches of the mountains.
He had seen stained glass windows and painted ceilings, and viewed the illuminated manuscripts in their libraries.
Val had witnessed art crafted by a master’s hand, and all of it paled in comparison to Lurenz bare in the steam.
He spun his septum ring, staring at the fire until the image burned from his mind enough to meet Onna’s eye. Her mischievous smile remained, the light of amusement brightening her face.
“Invigorating,” he answered.
Onna snorted, smoothing her skirts as she rose. “Hopefully my brother found his bath just as pleasing.”
Val gaped at her, processing her words. At her broadening smile, he chuckled. “You’re trouble, Onna.”
“I am glad you’ve realized that early. Otherwise, it would have been a long winter.”
Val smiled. He could not help it. To be seen so easily, without judgment or question, was a pleasure. “I have had years to learn your mischievous side.”
“Oh, this is just the beginning.” She gently squeezed his shoulder. “If I have to spend the season suffering Lurenz’s denial and your baleful looks, I will go mad.” She pressed a gentle kiss to the top of his head. “Allow me my fun.”
Val huffed, and patted her hand. “I’ll allow it. It is Lurenz I worry about.”
“It is good for him to be pushed.” She headed for the stairs. “He has not left the village since our parents died. Having you here will force him to remember what it is to live.”
“A small ask.”
“The tiniest.” She grinned, waving her fingers before disappearing to the upper floor.
In no time at all, Val lay on the cot, one arm beneath his head and the other across his belly.
Floorboards creaked overhead, Onna dressing for bed or the house settling for the night. Natural sounds, expected sounds, and yet Val could not stop his mind from wandering.
A short creak became a door easing open. The groan of wood became a foot on the stairs, another the sound of a man tiptoeing to the ground floor.
Val rolled onto his side, careful to keep his horns from snagging the pillow.
Low-burning embers cast the room in a hazy, dream-like pallor, the blues of night warmed by deep orange and a delicious red, and the stairs remained empty.
No farmer caught in his gaze. No Lurenz come to stare at Valentin like a starved man looks upon a meal.
And, Gods, hadn’t he done just that.
Again, the image formed in his mind. Lurenz, bare and beautiful, dressed only in steam. His back against the wall and hand on his cock, caught somewhere between hiding and groping himself.
“Gods.” He trailed fingers over his belly, following the thickening trail of hair.
He should have grabbed the towel or lowered himself into the water sooner, but how could he when met with the blunt force of restrained desire and want burning in Lurenz’s stare?
He freed his cock from his breeches, grunting at the weight of it in his palm. It had taken every bit of his restraint not to do this earlier, with Lurenz just a wall away. Naked, wet, as erect as Val was now.
A stroke had him pitching his head back, biting his tongue to keep from making a sound. He thumbed the head of his cock, milking the tip as the dull throb of pleasure sent his mind running wild.
Lurenz in the bath. Lurenz stripping in the hall. Lurenz looming over him, face hard and eyes dark with desire. His cock, pink and swollen, waiting for Val to take it into his mouth.
He licked his lips, smearing precum over his head and gripping harder. Would Lurenz taste as he smelled? Like grass and sun and sweat and soap? Would he fist his hand in Val’s hair? Thrust his hips until he choked on his cock?
“Gods,” he grunted. He hoped so. Lurenz held himself so tightly, kept his expressions cold, his emotions under wraps, but Val had seen the cracks.
The surprise on his face when he tumbled from the barn.
The heat in his gaze as he stared long enough to commit Val’s naked body to memory.
That alone had rewritten years of cold shoulders and terse words, painting the farmer in a new light.
And now Val was in his home. How far could he push Lurenz in the time they had? How many of those cracks could he shatter before the snow melted and he drove his herd back to the alpine fields?
A floorboard creaked, hauling Val from his thoughts and halting his hand. He gripped his cock, biting his lip as his eyes adjusted to the room, picking out new shadows on the staircase in the shape of a man.
He held his breath, lying as still as he could. Blood pounded in his ears, his veins, his cock, swelling him with a mixture of embarrassment and exhilaration.
Perhaps Lurenz thought he was asleep. But if he had, he would have continued to the kitchen, not frozen on the stairs.
Again, that lingering stare in the bath house filled Val’s mind, along with a dark, delicious idea.
How far could he push the farmer?
He drew the blanket aside, revealing himself to Lurenz. The stairs creaked, and a hand gripped the railing, caught in the moonlight streaming through a window, but Lurenz did not descend. Instead, he leaned forward, eyes fixed on Val with an intensity that sent a shiver down his spine.
Lurenz nodded, and the silent motion spoke louder than any words.
Val stroked himself, and a muscle in Lurenz’s jaw ticked.
And again, sweeping another bead of precum down his shaft.
His leg twitched, hoof catching in the blanket and kicking it away.
Cold air licked his nipples, at odds with the heat building in his spine, but he dare not stop.
Not when Lurenz watched so intently, cataloguing every twitch and gasp, his knuckles white against the railing.
A deep rumbling built in Val’s chest, balls tightening as pleasure surged with minimal warning.
He tipped his head back, closing his eyes tight to stave off the inevitable, but it did not help.
He could feel the burning cold of Lurenz’s eyes on his body, memorizing the way he touched himself.
He was being studied and catalogued by a man who could read the weather and the dirt, and the idea of Lurenz applying his keen farmer’s sense to Val’s pleasure was too much to bear.
Release burst through him, a low scraping free, as a deep, resonant moan of ecstasy.
The cot groaned as he twitched and rolled onto his back, catching the bulk of his seed with his hand and on his belly.
He lay panting, staring at the ceiling as his orgasm receded, holding his breath when the stairs creaked.
Lurenz appeared like a ghost in the night, hovering over Val.
So close, and still so far out of reach.
Shadows danced as his throat bobbed, and he swept his fingers over Val’s belly, eyelids fluttering as they glided over muscle, fat, and fur.
He traced a lazy whorl in Val’s mess, just shy of touching his cock, and raised his hand.
Without a word, he pressed his fingers into his mouth, grunting quietly as he licked them clean, and just as quickly as he had appeared, Lurenz left.
Val lay in his own mess, staring at the ceiling and lost in his thoughts. He had wondered how far he could push the farmer, and surely that ought to have been far enough. But now, after the silence and the heat between them, Val could not help but wonder: how much further could they go?