Cross Purposes (Chronicles of Ylandre, Book 5) (13 page)

He was still sobbing, albeit with more restraint when Keosqe released his shaft and withdrew his finger to move upward and lie beside him. The noble gathered him in a comforting embrace. Tristen buried his flaming face in Keosqe’s chest, for the moment too unsettled to care about his half naked state or that he was pressed tightly against Keosqe in a tempting fashion.

But while his mind did not register the latter fact, his body slowly did. The sensations of sleekly muscled arms wrapped around him, a firm wide chest beneath his cheek, a hard, nicely rippled abdomen flush against his belly and his recently spent shaft gently lodged against Keosqe’s groin sparked a resurgence of lust and need. Ever so gradually, his body responded to the subtle stimulation until he was unconsciously rubbing himself against Keosqe.

He only realized it when Keosqe rolled him on his back, sealing their mouths together before Tristen could question the change in position. He gasped against Keosqe’s lips when the noble tugged his shirt open and thumbed his nipples to stiff little nubs. And down yonder, he insinuated his leg between Tristen’s, preventing him from bringing his thighs together.

Tristen shuddered under the onslaught. Somehow, this felt even more intimate and invasive than what Keosqe had previously done. Save for the fingering of his arse, Tristen had already experienced oral pleasuring. And the fingering occurred midway through Keosqe’s ministrations, making it something of a blur to his already fogged mind. But this full contact between their bodies, their mouths in searing union, Keosqe’s hands hot and teasing upon his chest and his hips forcing Tristen to spread himself in wanton display, was way beyond the liberties he’d previously allowed to be taken with him.

Still fighting to maintain some control or at least the pretense of it, he bit back a moan when Keosqe lowered one hand between them to fondle him to renewed firmness. He tensed when Keosqe momentarily ceased his stroking but their unbroken spate of kisses prevented him from seeing what the noble was about. Therefore the sudden touch of hard, hot flesh against his skin virtually stole his breath from his breast. Keosqe had lowered his own trousers. Tristen clutched at Keosqe’s shoulders as the noble brought their shafts together and stroked them in tandem.

Keosqe finally released his lips only to leave a trail of moist kisses down his throat to his chest. Tristen whimpered when the noble fastened his lips on one nipple and sucked hard on it until it was one deliciously aching center of sensation. He soothed the small peak with several strokes of his tongue before turning his attention to the other nipple. And all the while, he continued drawing his hands up and down their shafts.

Tristen shuddered as he was skillfully brought back up to the brink of ecstasy. Rational thought still maintained a stand in his mind, but he was no longer capable of expressing it coherently. He could only run his hands in feverish wanting through Keosqe’s hair while his body almost of its own volition offered itself up for ravishment.

He did not quite comprehend what his actions would gain him when he feverishly unbuttoned Keosqe’s shirt and pushed it from his shoulders. He mindlessly ran his hands down Keosqe’s flesh, marveling at the hardness of muscle under smooth skin marked by the occasional scar. Tristen was not so far gone that he did not realize those scars had probably been inflicted in battle by sword and knife and arrow.

Something about the valor entailed to receive such wounds served to heighten his appreciation of Keosqe’s character and made the noble appear even more beauteous in his eyes. Unthinkingly, he pressed his mouth to an uneven scar just below Keosqe’s left collarbone. An arrow wound, Tristen deduced as he kissed the slightly raised patch, licking it as if to soothe a long past ache.

Keosqe groaned. He hastily doffed his shirt and kicked off his trousers then reached for the bottle of oil. Darkened eyes on Tristen, he poured a generous amount of the slippery liquid into his hand and then smeared it along the length of his shaft. Tristen dropped his gaze to watch him oil himself. His eyes bulged at his first sight of Keosqe’s endowment. How was that ever going to fit inside him? He caught his breath. He was going to be penetrated at long last. Was he ready?

Keosqe slid his hands behind Tristen’s knees, lifted them and pushed them back against Tristen’s chest. He stared down in blatant lust at the flesh he was about to breach. Tristen closed his eyes, unable to bear watching his own defloration.

“Look at me,” Keosqe softly commanded.

Tristen reluctantly obeyed and met his gaze.

“So beautiful…” Keosqe smiled, his gaze both tender and lustful. “I won’t pretend it doesn’t hurt at first. But bear down on me as I enter you. It should make it easier for both of us.”

Tristen gulped and nodded. “I’ll loosen up more,” he mumbled.

“They actually teach that?” Keosqe asked with a grin.

“Nay!” Tristen blushed. “Just how our bodies react in some situations.”

Keosqe softly laughed. “I never realized how interesting your course can be.”

Before Tristen could reply, his bottom was pulled flush against Keosqe’s groin. He felt Keosqe’s shaft part his buttocks and prod the entrance to his backside. Tristen desperately kept his eyes on the noble’s face, the sight somehow stemming some of his fears. As he felt hard flesh push into him, he bore down on it as instructed. After initial resistance, his arse suddenly opened up to the intrusion and Keosqe slowly but steadily slid into him. Tristen gasped in equal parts exhilaration and shock.

Heyas!
He felt so full. Despite the evidence of it, he still could not quite believe Keosqe’s sumptuous length was inside him.

“Does it hurt too much?” Keosqe murmured, leaning down to kiss him.

Trembling in reaction, Tristen shook his head. “It aches somewhat and—and I feel so stretched. But I’m well.” He stared in wonder. “I can’t believe we’re actually doing this.” Grimacing at how maudlin he probably sounded, he quickly amended his statement. “I mean, I can’t believe I’m letting you do this to me!”

Keosqe laughed. “My pretty spitfire. Small wonder I love you so.” He rolled his hips slightly, causing Tristen to forget to make a tart reply. “Deity’s blood but you feel wonderful, Tris,” he groaned. “I swear I’ll never get enough of you.”

He started with shallow thrusts to accustom Tristen to the sensation. Despite the discomfort, Tristen could not help yearning for each entry of that hard flesh into him, the pleasurable sensations more than making up for any slight pains. Before long, Keosqe was driving into him with cleaving strokes that had his shaft buried to the hilt with every plunge and stroking him within until pleasure threatened to overwhelm them both.

Surrendering himself to his body’s need, Tristen slung one leg across Keosqe’s back while the other he curled around the back of the noble’s thighs. Conscious only of the sheer desire to be speared as thoroughly as possible, he flexed his leg, urging Keosqe to take him even more deeply.

Keosqe obliged him. He pistoned his hips to almost brutally impale him until the youth was jerking helplessly beneath him. Tristen fought to smother the sobs brought on by the wondrous pleasure-pain of his ravishment but a few escaped him inevitably. Still, he was determined not to let Keosqe know how utterly he was undoing him. He still had the Marante pride to uphold, especially since it seemed Veare left it to him to do the upholding.

He may have agreed to play the mare, but it made him no less a Deir of good name and substance.

Tristen started when Keosqe caught his hand and guided it down to where his straining length lay between their bellies. With a raffish grin, he urged Tristen to take himself in hand. Tristen’s face flamed when he realized Keosqe intended to watch him stroke his own shaft. He closed his eyes, unwilling to face that relentless gaze.

“Open your eyes!” Tristen snapped them open at Keosqe’s order. The noble smiled appreciatively. “They’re much too beautiful to hide.”

He deliberately dropped his gaze once more to Tristen’s stroking hand, but lifted it once in a while to ensure Tristen had not retreated behind lowered lids again. The upshot of his attention was that Tristen found himself looking down at what he was doing as well. Keosqe lightly interwove his fingers with Tristen’s so that they stroked the tumescent flesh together. The sight of their joined hands drawing on his length and just beyond it Keosqe’s shaft relentlessly breaching him and filling him to the brim was the most erotic image he’d ever seen and his body reacted spectacularly to the visual stimulation.

With a smothered cry, Tristen came to completion, a milky ribbon of semen dappling their hands and streaking his belly. He was still shaking with the throes of his orgasm when Keosqe climaxed as well, driving deep into him and filling him with his seed. The unfamiliar sensation of liquid warmth flooding his innards served to further excite him and draw out his pleasure. His legs now wrapped tight around Keosqe’s waist, he rode out the waves of his orgasm—the most intense he’d ever known, desperately trying to stifle his cries and failing when pleasure crested too sharply to overcome its effects.

Eons later it seemed, Keosqe gently pulled out of him. Tristen winced, whether out of discomfort or the sudden emptiness, he did not know. Nor did he care to reflect on it just then. He blushed a little when Keosqe wiped his belly and groin but still shied from thinking about the intimate act that had left him smeared with his own semen. All that mattered at this point was that Keosqe then pulled him into a soothing embrace.

As he lay with his ear pressed to the noble’s breast, he could hear the slow change in his heartbeat from erratic and rapid to slow and steady. A perfect mirror to what was taking place in his own body as well.

Tristen did not care to examine his feelings about Keosqe. Not just yet. He was much too new to the game of love and until he had a better understanding of the rules, he preferred not to participate fully and perhaps stumble fatally along the way.

Chapter 8

Hurdles

C.A. 3009

I heard the duel between Tyrde and Lassen was spectacular. What a pity I did not get to watch! And imagine being fought over to the death by such comely rivals. How I envy Rohyr. But then he isn’t just our sovereign, he’s also fatally handsome and wealthy to boot. They’re going to bind as soon as it’s proper, aren’t they? When will Lassen’s coronation be? I do hope Keosqe secures an invitation for us. If he does, be sure to get yourself something suitable for the occasion.

Tristen shook his head as he finished reading Veara’s most recent letter. So remiss was his brother with their correspondence and yet the bulk of his missive had to do with the possibility of attending a royal wedding. Not that he thought Veare’s excitement and interest in the proceedings unusual. The whole kingdom was still agog over the events that led to the abrupt end of Rohyr’s first marriage and the advent of his second one.

Still, he would have liked to be the focus of Veare’s attention once in a while. It was hard enough to accept being relegated to third place in his brother’s life when once upon the time it had been the two of them relying on each other. He folded the letter and slipped it into the drawer of his writing desk where he kept all his correspondence.

He smiled grimly at the thought of Veare’s hope Keosqe would invite them both to the Ardan’s binding. He would not tell his brother until after the fact, but the ceremony would take place in a fortnight and Keosqe’s parents would be coming to the capital for the occasion. Unfortunately for Veare, only Tristen had been asked to attend the binding rites at the temple of Rikara and the reception at the Citadel. He was not sure why Keosqe elected to exclude Veare, but he was admittedly relieved the noble had decided not to indulge his brother.

Frankly, Veare did not deserve to be spoiled when he took his friend so much for granted, Tristen had long concluded. But why he felt thusly on Keosqe’s behalf was a matter he did not look at too closely for fear it would reveal something about himself that he was not yet ready to deal with.

* * * *

“When dealing with a great number of battle wounded or multiple casualties of a horrendous accident, triage will help you determine who to treat first and how to go about it,” the surgical instructor said. “Remember, those of you born with it, the healing gift is not inexhaustible. You must learn to pace yourself; to conserve your strength for when it is really needed. A dire wound or fracture that needs rapid mending or bleeding that must be stanched quickly lest it turn fatal—by all means, expend energy on such injuries. Otherwise, it is best you do not tap too much into your gifts however extensive or strong they are. Hence the need to continue honing your suturing skills.”

Grimacing at the thought of practicing on a live being, Tristen glanced at the Deir who awaited his attention. He was obviously destitute and desperate enough to agree to treatment at the hands of a student. All the Deira in the chamber were from the poorest of the poor, enticed into volunteering their bodies by the prospect of free medical help and one decent meal following the session.

His patient’s injury was a ragged wound on the leg that had partially closed and showed signs of festering. Oh joy. He would have to surgically reopen the wound and clean it before sewing it shut as neatly as possible to minimize the chance of an unsightly scar. A part of him hoped the wound was not as horrendous as it appeared; the cynical part assured him it was. And given the sour smell emanating from the Deir who was not only unwashed, but also recovering from the effects of a night’s imprudent consumption of rotgut, prolonged proximity with him was going to be trying at best.

Tristen stifled a sigh and went to assemble the instruments and other materials he would need for the procedure. Fortunately, though the Deir’s injury had indeed festered, the infection did not go deep. With some judicious cutting away of cankerous flesh and removal of pus, all to the accompaniment of many a yowl and curse on his patient’s part, he managed to clean the wound, sewed it up quite evenly and, after applying a thick layer of ointment, bound the limb with fresh bandages.