SIX Lurenz
SIX
Lurenz
As if the vibrant memory of Valentin pleasuring himself was not enough to drive Lurenz mad, the Senn now had the gall to work shirtless in their barn.
It was far too cold to work without proper clothing, but that did not stop him from pitching hay in nothing but low-slung trousers and a belt.
Lurenz froze in the doorway, clutching tools and rope to his chest. He had avoided Valentin for two full days, dining in the village and tiptoeing up the rear stairs, but his luck had run out, because there was Valentin, glistening with sweat and every rippling muscle on display.
He stared. Gods help him, he stared for a good long while, transfixed by the flex and roll of muscles, yearning to know how they felt beneath his hand. Under his tongue. Gods, to know the taste of his release and not the flavor of his skin and sweat.
Blood pooled in his cheeks and groin, and when the scalding heat grew unbearable, he cleared his throat.
Valentin froze, pitchfork effortlessly hoisted with a bale of hay speared on the prongs. He rolled one shoulder, glanced back at Lurenz, and winked.
Tools and rope clattered to the ground and Lurenz ran, not stopping until he was safely in the shadows of his shed at the edge of the field.
He shoved his fingers into his hair, panting madly, but the desire would not recede.
Images flashed in his mind. That grin and the cocky half smile drawing Valentin’s mouth up.
The bead of sweat trickling down his back.
His head pitched back, face tight as pleasure overwhelmed him.
The shimmer of his release in the moonlight, sparkling on his skin and fur like a freshly fallen snow.
Lurenz ripped his belt free, shoving a hand in his trousers and grasping his cock. His jerks were graceless and rough, but they were enough. He came quickly, spilling on his boots and the ground, panting like a dog.
“Gods,” he rasped. “Gods and all, I won’t last the season.”
He lasted three days.
All things considered, it was a wonder he lasted that long before recognizing Valentin’s game.
The shirtlessness persisted, though the temperature dropped daily. After his bath, Valentin walked through the kitchen in a towel that barely closed, greeting Onna with a smile. She covered her mouth with a hand, eyes darting to Lurenz, stewing angrily in his chair.
In the morning, Valentin sat at the table with his legs spread wide, leaving Lurenz no option but to tangle his feet with a hoof if he wanted to sit.
He stood at the butcher’s block instead, shoving bread, butter, and jam into his mouth before storming out the door.
But on the third day, after suffering silently and stroking himself hard enough to form new callouses, an epiphany struck.
Valentin worked outside of the barn, cleaning a cow’s abscessed hoof.
It was hard work. Foul, but necessary, and for the first time in days the Senn wore his shirt, vest, and knit cap, dressing appropriately for the weather and the task.
Tongue pinched between his teeth, eyes narrowed, he carved at the hoof, glancing up every few strokes to check on the cow, all the while murmuring soft words in a sweet, soothing tone.
Lurenz chopped wood nearby, sneaking glances at Valentin and slowing as he recognized the game.
This was Valentin hard at work, focused, intent on his task, and clothed. Not a wink, not a subtle smile, not a notion that he noticed Lurenz lurking nearby.
This was work, and not a game.
Which meant the last few days had been—
He brought the axe down hard, splitting the log and sending pieces flying. One struck a bucket near Valentin’s hoof. He whipped his head up.
“Can you not?” Valentin bellowed. The cow kicked, and he grabbed its ankle, scowling deeper. “I need to concentrate.”
“Apologies.” Lurenz set the axe against the stump. Slowly, he pulled the hem of his shirt free, lifting the garment over his head and tossing it aside. “My grip slipped.”
Valentin’s frown softened, eyes widening slightly. It was all Lurenz needed to confirm his suspicions: it was a game, and now he knew the rules.
He set another log on the stump and grasped the axe handle, hoisting it to his shoulder. Tipping his head to the weak sun, he swept sweaty hair from his brow and smiled sharply. “Unseasonably warm today, is it not?”
“I—”
He did not wait for Valentin to finish, cutting him off with another mighty swing.
The next night, Lurenz sat close to his sister, picking meat from the bones of a game hen and trying with all his might not to blush at Valentin’s display.
A pile of bones filled his plate, and he sucked on the last, savoring the marrow. Grease glistened on his lips, rolled down his chin, and through it all, he kept his eyes on Lurenz.
Torture.
This was sheer torture. His cock was as stiff as a board. His fingers shook. If he looked up, his cheeks would flame and his restraint would snap, but Onna was right beside him, chattering about the cost of wool and sharing the latest gossip from the road.
Lurenz was going to die.
“Milk?”
He would burn to ash and crumble in his aroused mortification if Valentin did not stop sucking on those bones like they were a—
“Lurenz, would you like some milk?” Onna nudged his arm. He startled, raising his head to find his sister holding out a pitcher. “We need to drink it before it spoils.”
“It is best fresh from the tap,” Valentin added with a wicked grin.
“No, thank you.” Lurenz nudged the pitcher away.
“We do not want it to go to waste.” Onna shoved it back at him.
“I said no.”
“Don’t be rude.”
“I am not being rude.”
“Come on, Lurenz.” Valentin’s eyes twinkled. Beneath the table, he pressed his leg against Lurenz’s thigh. “Just a taste.”
“I—” He looked to Onna, dismayed by her matching grin. This was a rigged game, Gods be damned, but he could still play. “Fine.”
He grabbed the pitcher, and chugged.
Milk splashed his cheeks and dribbled down his throat, soaking his shirt until it clung to his chest.
Valentin’s expression shifted between hunger and desire. Surprise and awe. The color on his cheeks darkened, and he licked his lips.
Lurenz slammed the empty pitcher down, gasping for breath and soaked from chin to trousers. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, meeting Valentin’s eyes.
“Delicious.”