12. Trial of Submission #4
Imalroc grazed the marks on his own chest. The ink was still cooler than the rest of his skin, but already dry.
He traced the pattern, watched Rerdas’s gaze follow the motion like a man entranced, and had to force himself to move back.
Easing away, still on his knees, half-reluctant to escape the undertow of having Rerdas within arm’s reach.
“I will fetch my mistress.” Damar emerged from the shadows, and Imalroc flinched. How long had he stood there?
Nolbrathe was pleased with Rerdas’s work and cooed over Imalroc for entirely too long.
He tried to quell his body, but he was flooded with heat and impatience and a strange, bubbling fearlessness.
Rerdas seemed to sense it in him, because he hurried through the rest of the arrangements and evaded Nolbrathe’s attempts to get him to stay.
They escaped the battlebox, but that was little relief.
His tunic did not entirely hide the stark ink on his skin, and the Kiboans on the streets knew him to be a battleboxer now.
He kept his head low in Rerdas’s shadow, even though he walked a little too close to him, brushed up against him too frequently.
They said nothing to each other as the servants greeted Rerdas and admitted them back into Almes’s house. Imalroc was vaguely aware of a pair whispering to each other, eyeing the new ink with approval.
Rerdas strolled through the house with too little urgency, sedately descending the narrow stairs that led to the windowless corridor and Imalroc’s chamber at the end of it. He’d never anticipated being so eager to get back to that room.
The huntmaster opened the door and stood aside for him, peering around before his gaze settled on Imalroc.
Rerdas’s voice was barely more than a whisper. “Are you al—”
Imalroc seized the front of his tunic and wrenched him across the threshold, pinning him against the wall with one hand while he slapped the door shut and bolted with his other.
He lunged, swallowing Rerdas’s gasp, his tongue plunging into Rerdas’s mouth as he caught him up at last and trapped him against the wall.
Rerdas moaned and lifted his hips against Imalroc’s, his arms tangled around Imalroc’s neck.
The kiss was delirious, sloppy, like they were trying to devour each other.
Liquid heat spilled down into his balls, his cock.
The arousal he’d desperately been trying to stave off swelled, and he slid his hand up to curl his fingers over the answering reaction in Rerdas’s trousers.
“You and that stupid fucking brush,” Imalroc mumbled against the huntmaster’s mouth. He swooped down to kiss Rerdas’s neck, lifting away only to let the words spill out. “Stupid fucking brush, felt like your tongue, all over me—”
“Gods, yes.” Rerdas threw his head back so hard he might’ve cracked it against the wall if Imalroc hadn’t yanked him forward. “Let’s do that. I want to taste you.” His breathing was harsh, his expression glazed, defending nothing.
Imalroc kissed and bit his lips, running his palms up beneath Rerdas’s tunic and stroking the same shapes into Rerdas’s chest, as if he too could leave trails of claiming ink.
He didn’t hear footsteps approaching, only the rattle of the handle as someone tried to open it. Imalroc turned, alert, tense, and unwilling to release the man he finally had in his grasp. Thank the Eternals, the bolt on the door held.
He kept Rerdas locked in his arms, both of them staring.
“Rerdas.” Etiana’s voice slithered into the room, muffled by the door.
Imalroc ran proprietary hands down Rerdas’s back, gripping his waist. They could wait her out. Only a matter of time before the rest of the world stopped intruding and he had Rerdas to himself again.
A sound like nails drumming sharply against the door. “Rerdas, get out here.”
Imalroc leaned into him as if he could block out the sound. Rerdas didn’t resist. He didn’t answer his cousin, but he didn’t look at Imalroc either. His lowered gaze cut to the side, his attention torn.
“Rerdas, I know you’re in there. The servants said you and the battleboxer returned. You’ve got to come out. Umber is here.”
Rerdas jolted. Imalroc nearly put both his fists through the wall.
He caught one glimpse of the fear and apology overtaking Rerdas’s expression and hid from it, burying his face in the bend of Rerdas’s neck.
“Imalroc.” Rerdas breathed his name into his ear, a plea.
He clung to the huntmaster’s shoulders. “No,” he mumbled. “No.”
“I have to.”
“What’s he fucking done for you? What good is he?
” It was a hopeless argument. As if he could convince Rerdas to slight a royal peer, as if it were something the huntmaster should even consider doing.
But he was dizzy with longing, and it felt like he’d waited half his life to have Rerdas in his arms, to have his body, his desire, his smile, all of it a bridge back to a hidden place where touch could only feel good.
He bared his teeth against soft skin. Rerdas cringed away from the contact and slipped his hold.
“He can’t know about you, Imalroc.” Rerdas wasn’t running away entirely yet, but he disentangled, stepping back.
He lifted Imalroc’s chin gently until Imalroc had to look up at the mirror of his misery.
“Please, you have to believe me. If he knew how I felt about you…” Rerdas swallowed.
“He can hurt me, and he might do worse to you. I’m sorry. I have to go.”
There were things he wanted to say. Things he wanted to ask, mostly about what exactly Rerdas felt about him, but then the huntmaster might ask him what he felt in return, and Imalroc couldn’t answer.
His feelings were a snarled knot, yanked first one way and then another, the tangle only straining tighter.
“If he hurts you, I’ll kill him,” Imalroc ground out.
“It’ll be alright.” Rerdas sounded as though he were trying to convince himself too.
Imalroc should be shoving him away. Out into someone else’s arms. He couldn’t do it.
Instead, he took an ill-advised step forward. “But, before you go—” He was already crowding Rerdas back up against the wall, leaning in to steal one last soft, sweet sound from his mouth.
A hand flat on his chest stopped him.
“I can’t kiss you,” Rerdas whispered.
They were so close already; it would be nothing to close the distance. Imalroc closed his eyes. “You can. Just once.”
“I can’t.” His voice was vanishingly soft. “If I kiss you again, I’ll never be able to make myself leave.”
Again, he wanted to speak, but the words crowding his throat were shameful, desperate pleas, and he couldn’t allow them voice. He stayed frozen as Rerdas slipped away from him and eased back the bolt on the door.
Rerdas went without another word.
Imalroc tilted forward to rest his forehead against the wall. He struck the meat of his fist hard against the cool plaster. The sleeve of his tunic skidded down, revealing band after band of neat, uninterrupted ink.