dribs and drabs

Tanner was fifteen years old and had been making a name for himself in the army. He was diligent, quiet yet friendly; a strikingly handsome bastard boy of Lord Aesnir Palatinus III who took to a lance like the fire dancers of the south to their batons, maneuvering a polearm the way a color guardsman did a banner. Caster took a shine to him as the boy was eager to learn and prove himself. It showed in the way he pushed him harder through drills, drug him up by the collar of his shirt and threw him back into the practice ring until Tanner would nearly pass out from heat and physical exhaustion. Without being told, Tanner would tend to the stables before the stable boys, taking his horse for obstacle course drills, moving with her as one unit and piercing through dummies with his lance. He had gotten to the point of training her to buck and kick to defend him should he make an oversight.

It was a team of rider and mare if he had ever seen one.

Loras, meanwhile, was a knight who was comfortable resting on the laurels of many things: his name; his skills; his good looks. A fine swordsman, all things considered, but the titles and various privileges that came with his station had made him comfortable in recent memory. He had a reputation for being quite the dog of the army, taking nubile young men and many a blushing maiden to bed with the deftness of a fisherman in a clear lake during spawning. And he eyed the young bastard boy the way a chicken hawk did prey, not that it was unusual for any of the men in the army to have their eye on fresh meat.

Especially if that fresh meat had cheekbones like his father’s and carried himself with dignity, but sand-colored skin; wine red eyes; and slate grey hair that draped down his shoulders all of his own. Tanner would play with his hair in agitation when he heard the same refrain across the camps: “Aesnir’s pretty bastard…pretty like a woman…pretty like his whore mother.”

That same old song and dance haunted him since he was born. Everyone knew that Tanner chose not to engage in relations with anyone in the army, for one reason or another. They had their suspicions of whom he bedded, but no one had ever heard of anyone bedding him; the idea of doing so a challenge of mythic proportions. He was perfectly aware of what people said about him. It didn’t hurt any less, even as he drove himself to be a good soldier. He was a boy becoming a man with eyes on a ranked position, titles and dignity that he was frequently told he didn’t deserve due to his pedigree.

He kept to himself mostly, overseeing and training new recruits, delegating responsibilities of the camp to people he sized up as worthwhile. There was a sense of caution in his eyes, despite his gregarious nature: sweet and kind, but keeping would-be paramours well over arm’s length. Some of them had been on the sharp end of his weapon, taking the hint or seeing it as an obstacle to overcome.

Loras had been one of the latter.

It had been a day they were sniffing out raiders like hounds on a fox. It was one of Tanner’s first missions as a member of the cavalry, being expected to follow before leading. Loras claimed glory for his kills and charisma towards the townsfolk; Tanner wasn’t faulted for observing him. Tanner continued to prove himself a worthy recruit, his horse bucking and kicking when he would miss a hit to make up for his oversight, lance spearing through a neck or skull like a fork into a cut of meat. It had been a good mission all around. The night ended with a celebratory meal, ale and mead flowing freely with roasted boar and root vegetables.

Loras took the opportunity to seat himself next to the recruit, who was being teased by some of the other men for a variety of things his tongue had let slip.

“Now now, what’s everyone teasing the little blueblood for?” Loras started, gentle smile as he looked down at Tanner. He was playing with his hair; he always did when he was flustered, like he was trying to hide behind it.

“Well, Tanner here just confessed an interesting little secret for us,” started Magnus, the axe-wielder. He was bulky but intelligent, like an ancient yew or oak tree. He started out a commoner, but one wouldn’t know with how well he could mimic the upper class when discussing tactics or going ons of the army when prompted. Craster looked to him to guide the foot soldiers for good reason.

“Oh?” Loras asked, looking at Tanner. “Not good to keep secrets from your brothers at arms.”

“It’s personal, no need to share it,” Tanner started, looking at Magnus with the slightest hint of embarrassment. Loras had to admit, he was cute, painfully so. He wouldn’t have been surprised—

“I’m surprised you’ve kept your virtue in tact with all these beasts here, little half-prince,” Magnus said smoothly, the table going silent as Tanner made a thousand yard stare into his mug of ale. That wasn’t a secret; everyone knew Tanner was a virgin of some capacity. Not totally, not with the way he flirted; but enough to prove he hadn’t quite let his boundaries be breached yet. “You mean to tell me none of these strapping young men have you curious to try?”

“Oh there’s a few--!” Tanner started before clamping his mouth shut; gods, alcohol was going to get him in trouble for half of the things he said. He wanted to sign a waiver to forfeit responsibility.

“Oho, a few, huh?” Loras grinned, sitting beside the younger man with a deliberate tap of his hip against Tanner’s. “Do tell; I may be able to make something of it.”

Tanner snorted and shooed away Loras, the knight only mildly affronted. He hadn’t seen someone this shy since one of the handmaidens of the court, a soft-spoken nit named Agatha who turned out to be quite the screamer by the end of it. “Come on, there’s a few here you’ve clearly got your eye on,” the knight said with the tease of an older sibling, looking at the boy who kept squirming in his seat. He was thoroughly out of his element, dangerously close to being the butt of a joke. And with a crippling hatred of being embarrassed, to boot.

“Didn’t you mention one of those recruits? Alexander?” one of the younger soldiers offered to Tanner, whom corrected him: “Allister.”

“Ah, how cute, you know his name. Not bad though, you like that sort: manly, sure of himself.”

“I’ve also found that Scotch character rather handsome,” Tanner admitted meekly, taking another drink of ale in a meager attempt to shut himself up.

“Ahaha, two pretty men having their way at each other, looking like a pair of women without the bits!” Magnus howled at the observation. “Both of the two you mentioned, I bet they’re a right pair of cads. Allister probably fucks whoever looks his way right, and that noble boy could charm the pants off the royal family without even trying, from what I’ve heard.”

Of course Tanner had his eyes on men with experience, who had more swagger in their bodies than some men had in the experience of their lives. Loras took that assessment to heart; he could charm him, he determined. “So, those two specifically? Are men naturally your type, Tanner, or have you ever fucked a woman?”

Tanner felt his face grow a little warm but made a slow blink and nodded. “Of course. Just…servant girls, girls who were curious. Sometimes they felt bad because I’d been excluded, because they knew what I was. One girl told me that she wanted to see what it was like, fucking a pretty boy. She said I was gentle, scared even. I mean, I was twelve.”

“And your first time with a man?”

“I went to a whorehouse,” Tanner admitted. “I wanted to bed.”

Whatever embarrassment normally accompanied his admissions was surprisingly absent. Tanner was a painfully honest drunk, the kind that was perfect to assassinate literally or figuratively. Loras wasn’t in the mood for bloodshed.

“Was he pretty like you?” Magnus teased with a little sneer, more good-natured than anything.

Tanner nodded again as if a father or uncle was addressing him, coaching him through the minutiae of fucking versus lovemaking. “He was,” he murmured, “Fair skin and pale blue eyes.”

“Ah those are always gorgeous. You have good tastes, by all accounts.”

Tanner felt his face warm up more, deciding it was the ale and not the compliment. “I should probably go to bed, this is…quite a lot that I’ve talked and I’m afraid I’ll get myself into more trouble.”

“Come. I’ll walk you to your room,” Loras said, hand on Tanner’s back as he held him steady. Magnus watched the scene unfold and then back at Tanner, who was wobbling like a new fawn. Loras gathered himself and kept his hand on Tanner’s back, leading him away to the quarters.

Was it dirty-handed, taking advantage of an easily flustered, inebriated boy? Of course.

But you didn’t look at a lame boar and think “I should kill my food honorably.”

He could’ve been crueler and had half a dozen men who wanted to claim a piece of the royal bastard for themselves when he was finished, but he’d rather save the privilege in its entirety for himself. At the end of the day, Loras knew what he was: a glory hound. And he wasn’t about to look a feast away just because it had fallen to the floor. Tanner was unaware enough to not have registered where he was in the hallway, all the doors in all the corridors blending together. The braziers were like melted suns on the walls, the windows slightly tilted. He watched Loras open the door and looked around, and said something that made Loras’ blood start to run cold: “Did we pass my room, Ser Loras.”

“We may have, but do you really want to be alone in your state,” Loras replied coolly at the young boy who was doing his best not to show that he was at the halfway point of tipsy and drunk. Loras didn’t give Tanner an option to respond before guiding him into his room, the boy taking to it like a suggestion.

Loras’ room was no different than any of the other knights’ or soldiers’. Minimally decorated, a few medals and pins to suggest his stature and accomplishments along with his armor, but above all, he carried it all in his heart, character, and disposition. Tanner was both a little stunned and a little unsurprised, figuring Loras cared little for material tokens of his winnings. He looked back up at Loras, mouth against his and fingers holding his chin, firm lips against his.

A few seconds later, he registered: “Goodness, you are cute.”

Tanner overestimated his tolerance, the alcohol making the room tilt and waver, but not spin. He was still a lightweight, all things considered. Loras composed himself with enough swagger to diffuse his slight sway, the cant of his head weaving and bobbing like he had a good laugh. First-timers were always easy; get them drunk enough and say enough nice things to them, and they’d do anything to keep the night going.

Tanner was proving to be no exception, especially given the fact his self-esteem issues had all the subtlety of a gaping chest wound. He starved for affection; he didn’t quite believe the experience was real. Loras especially liked the way he sat in his lap and straddled him, draping his arms around him as the knight supported him from falling over. His inhibitions had been stripped from him like his trousers were close to being; a terribly lonely boy who wanted affection from anywhere, particularly from men. It was almost sad how easy it was. He could’ve done it here, pull himself out while Tanner was least expecting it and just hazy enough to register what was going on –

But he did have a soft spot for seeing Tanner on his back, being put in his place for good.

“Ah, ah, ah, what a sweet little thing you are,” Loras teased, leading Tanner to the bed and holding his side, tracing the slight curve to it. A pretty little prize, he determined, enjoying how cute he looked as he kept trying to blink away the effects of the ale, color in his cheeks. The knight grabbed his chin, pulling him down for another kiss as the hand stroking Tanner’s side went around and pushed his ass towards him. He restrained a laugh at Tanner’s expense when the recruit fell over himself and into the bed face first.

Tanner inhaled and pushed himself up, pushing back against the bed. His sway was becoming less pronounced, his faculties returning to him as he gripped his head and winced. He looked back at Loras, a hand around his wrist as he guided him back into the bed like a song. He had him, he needed to confirm it. He loomed over the younger soldier, pinning his arms back to keep him from moving and settled himself between his legs.

Tanner didn’t like the way the knight leered at him, not as a person but a conquest. It was becoming increasingly clear there was no kindness or consideration; he was a notch in Loras’ belt, a prize that he would gloat about winning to the whole army. Tanner felt a sense of dread pool at his stomach as Loras had his wrists gripped behind his head, thrashing and kicking.

“Easy, easy, thought you said you were curious to try,” Loras whispered in his ear, coquetry with a bite of expectation. “Come on now, I know you’re pretty like a girl; didn’t think you’d be a fucking tease like one, too.”

Tanner’s nostrils flared at that sentiment. “Get - the fuck - off me,” he snarled, every syllable and fragment clipped like stabbing.

Revulsion coursed through him like sickness, feeling the urge to vomit in the pit of his stomach and to the back of his throat as Loras smashed his wet lips against his, taking a hand away to reach around and find the waistband of Tanner’s trousers, beginning to yank them down. Red flags were in Tanner’s eyes with alarms ringing in his ears; he had to do something. Loras was between his legs, pinning him down and he was scared; gods above, he was scared. He was in possession of himself to not cry or shut down, trying to relax himself from the thrash but thinking of a way to get out of the hold quickly and give enough distance between the two of them. Without fail, he curled his legs to his chest and kicked firmly into Loras’ shoulders, launching the knight off of him and a good few feet away from the bed. For a moment, he thanked the fact he was more flexible than he gave himself credit for.

He quickly scrambled off the bed, keeping a wide distance between him and the other man. He looked like a feral animal ready to strike, Loras seeing that he snatched his hunting knife off the bedside table and had it unsheathed at him.

“You come near me and I gut you. Stand down,” Tanner warned. He had all the fear of a young man but with all the determination of someone ready to kill. Loras kept down to the ground, not unlike a wolf being challenged by an upstart and aware it was losing. Tanner was merely threatening him; he was a little stunned Tanner didn’t take the opportunity to mount his back and put the knife to his throat.

“This does not leave this room. There will be no discussion of what happened tonight. So gods help us both.”

And with that, he backed against the door and slipped out, keeping Loras’ knife as protection.

---

The morning had started normally, with an average breakfast of smoked meat, gruel and water. Men had split off into their factions and groups, sitting around their compatriots who would hear their stories and entertain their bullshit.

Tanner came in, a sheen of sweat on his forehead as he was still dressed in riding leathers. It was the middle of the week, his usual day to do his drills with Silverfish. What made today unusual was how silence came like a wave the moment he walked in the door. He looked around at the men and chose to not say a word, making his breakfast and slinking to an unoccupied table to assess the day.

Then he heard snickering, tucking his hair behind his ear. He was always self-conscious but something told him he had every right to be right now. He could feel eyes looking at him, the whole room watching him; something wasn’t right. He looked up and scanned the room. Everyone was looking at him, staring at him, leering at him. And he was alone, the fact making the situation worse than usual.

Where was Loras?

Something between hurt, anger and embarrassment set in like teeth. Another soldier grabbed him by the shoulder and teased: “Hey, so that’s your type? Didn’t think you’d be so quick to bend ov—“

Tanner turned at the soldier who looked at him like the he had yanked the tongue clean out of his throat. He put up his hands to his chest in a show of surrender. Tanner snarled, “Where is he? Where is Loras?”

The soldier tried his luck again. “Why, so you can demonstrate your oral abilities?”

He went white as a sheet when Tanner had his eating knife at the soldier’s throat. “I’d say you calm your oral abilities before I remove them. Permanently.” Whatever warmth left in Tanner’s eyes was replaced by indignant fury, out for blood. He repeated his question one last time.

“He’s over by the fires,” the soldier spat out, legs halfway ready to give out. He was used to enemies ready to hack him to size; an ally and fellow soldier wasn’t exactly who he had intended to piss off this early in the morning. Tanner lowered the knife and turned on his heel.

He made a beeline to the fireplaces, boots stomping into the wooden floor. He stalked like a wildcat, ready to pounce and tear limb from bloody limb, finding himself next to a certain blonde and overly cocky (and not particularly handsome in hindsight) knight, glaring down at him. The knight looked up at him, a cocky smirk on his face as he rested his chin on the back of his hand.

“Well, good morning, Tanner. How’d you sleep,” he offered sweet like honey. Tanner wanted to give the world to spit it in his eye.

“What did you say this morning.” His voice was grave, holding his anger in his fists like white-hot coals, the knife shaking in his grip. He didn’t care if his hands were on fire; he was ready to burn the man alive, shove his face into the damn fire to watch him scream as the flames licked off his skin.

Loras looked surprised, letting way to mild amusement. “This morning? I didn’t take you one to care about idle gossip around the camps, always so serious.”

Tanner cut him off. “Don’t skirt the issue; what have you been saying.”

“Goodness, Tanner, I thought we had a rather pleasant evening last night,” Loras started, corners of his eyes crinkling with delight. “You were so sweet, so eager to please, you know; who knew such a cautious, skittish little boy was such a sex kitten in the sack.”

Tanner felt hot in his face, his nostrils flaring even more as Loras spun a lie from his own ego, relishing in Tanner’s humiliation. “Mewling like a wanton queen, I always knew you liked cock, but goodness, not so voraciously. Couldn’t seem to keep your hands off me, practically begging me with that mouth of yours, like that cheap whore of a moth—“

One minute, Loras had his shit-eating grin like he had his cake and ate it too. Somewhere in the slow motion memory and adrenaline-fueled haze, he was up at his feet, fury and agony mashed in his eyes and brow line. His hands had flown up to cover his clearly broken nose, blood dribbling down over his lips, chin and onto the floor. It took a few seconds for pain to register on Tanner’s knuckles, blood smeared on the back of them as testament for the punch.

He didn’t remember feeling his mouth move but he heard his voice say, “The ring. Now. Gather your lance. Don’t bother with your armor.”

It took at most twenty-five minutes, a small procession behind Tanner not unlike schoolboys excited to see a fight at the nearby field. Tanner still had his riding leathers on, his hair done in a sloppier rendition of his usual topknot, curls of his hair falling out the bun and over his ears. He gripped his lance like a throat in a stranglehold, lips in a firm frown. He was ready. Loras had bandaged his nose, gauze bandaged haphazardly over it but still oozing confidence. His victory was certain; he did have more years on him in the army, after all.

“Really, Tanner?” Loras taunted. “A bastard-born greenhorn challenging a knight to a duel of honor? What honor could you possibly have?”

“I don’t lie,” Tanner started, bracing himself to either move, parry or strike at a moment’s notice.

Loras charged first; Tanner parried. The knight expected that much, swinging his blade over. Tanner read the move, ducking and rolling to the side while keeping his lance close to his chest. Loras was puzzled for a moment, but not surprised; it wasn’t too unusual for lancers to wield their weapons like spears. Lancers without training, he snorted to himself.

“You did last night-“ He swung his lance again, his cocky stance making his attacks too wide, too easy to read, too easy to dodge.  He wasn’t taking a single part of this fight seriously, determining he was fighting an indignant, hurt child with wounded pride. Tanner’s face said it for him, the way rage was setting in his eyes; it reminded him of a bull to a slaughter.

He sidestepped, pushing Tanner away, who stumbled but didn’t fall. “When you said you were ready-“

They continued the back and forth, Loras dodging and Tanner attacking; impenetrable force of a man who underestimated the indignity of a boy. “When you said you wanted it-!”

It got quiet. Loras was stunned. Tanner’s lance had ripped through his shirt and shoulder, another nick on his neck. It was too shallow to damage his jugular, but the fact he even went that far made him painfully aware of his situation.

“I don’t attempt to rape one of my brothers at arms.”

And then Loras was thrown like a haystack from a pitchfork.

The knight guarded his shoulder, hissing. The blade had grazed him, but what surprised him was the maneuver. Tanner had caught his shirt, twisted the lance to catch again to be able to have him in a distance hold before throwing him to the side and knocking him to his flank. The knight only had experience of doing that move with a man in armor. His lips set into a firm line; Tanner was good, frighteningly good.

What made it worse was the maneuver proved that Tanner was ready to kill him to prove a point.

Loras drew his sword, parrying Tanner’s swings, knocked back half a pace each time blows were countered. He had gotten sloppy, not counting for Tanner’s footwork with his lance on top of the sheer force he was commanding with his polearm. The way he swung it, not only intent on slicing and eviscerating Loras, but actually hacking him, was more reminiscent of handling a halberd. The counters kept going until Tanner sliced at Loras’ hands, making the man hiss and drop his sword. Some of the men took to retreating to call for backup, someone to stop before things escalated. Tanner had him on the ground, without a weapon, and with intent in his eyes. He raised his weapon, rage replacing inhibitions, pride mercy--

“Tanner, yield!”

The whole army watched, the captain the only person who had the gall and balls to grab Tanner and his lance with his bare hands, not bothering to parry with his sword. The field was silent in awe, Tanner looking at Craster, stunned out of his indignation and brought into the reality of the moment: he was going to murder Loras in cold blood over a spiteful rumor and his wounded pride.

“Explain yourself, boy.”

Tanner was wide-eyed, angry and damn well terrified, the one man who had any right to be considered a father figure to him staring him down and gutting him with cold disappointment. Color drained from his cheeks as he looked down at the rightfully terrified Loras, who was peeking out from under his arm that he had flung to futilely protect himself from an upcoming beheading. His lance was several feet from him to his right, several paces further his sword; if he had tried to grab either weapon, he would’ve been cleaved in half.

“I-I,” Tanner started; gods above, it had been a minute since Craster had been that pissed off at him. “Loras – I, it’s personal, Loras was calling me a pretty bastard whore, lying about – I was defending my honor!” he explained, embarrassment making him trip over his words. He felt the ground wanting to sink under him; he hated being embarrassed, hated disappointing people—

His head snapped to the right as his lance fell, Craster’s right hand flat and crossed over to his left side with his left hand wielding Tanner’s lance. “Defending your honor how? By being a knightslayer on top of being a bastard? For gods’ sake, Tanner, you kill everyone who called you a pretty whore’s bastard, there’d be no one left in the country; fuck, the whole realm!”

He then looked at Loras and said, “I’ll deal with you and your stupid mouth in my quarters.” He then looked at Tanner again. “The both of you – separately, if I can help it.”

---

Allister looked at Tanner, wide-eyed and propped up on one arm. He threw his head back for a belly laugh, watching Tanner tell the story, the way he recounted his embarrassment and sheer loathing of Loras being his typical piece of shit self.  “The hell did you tell Craster?”

“The whole thing, about how Loras tried to pin me down and was trying to assault me. He patted my back and said good job on kicking him off of me and would’ve paid all the gold he was worth to see it. Then he told me that, while I shouldn’t have been alone with Loras, that I had handed his ass so thoroughly that he wouldn’t have thought to antagonize me again. And he was right.”

Tanner had rolled to his back as he recounted the story, looking up in the direction of the ceiling but not focused. His eyes fluttered a hair, closing them as he chuckled. “Can’t believe I almost killed that idiot, thank the gods Craster stopped me. Would’ve taken weeks to clean up the blood.”

Allister looked at the lieutenant for a moment, eying his frame: sturdy as a birch tree, but not as hefty as his own; sharp cheekbones and equally sharp nose; muscles toned, not made from work like his had been. His hands were roughened from the army and from years of attempting to be a leather maker’s apprentice and son, while Allister had always hefted rocks and mortar for his father and brothers, thighs and buttocks cut from years of squatting and heaving the workload. Tanner had the body of a disregarded boy who proved himself to be a man in due time; Allister’s was the body of a boy who was expected to work like a man the day he crawled out of his mother’s womb.

To any other man, it would’ve been humbling that Tanner chose him to share it with. Allister was pleased he was the only one who had any real chance.

He broke the silence. “I suppose Loras is right about something though.”

Tanner scrunched his nose at the comment. “Gods, how?”

“You are quite the little sex kitten,” Allister teased, wrestling on top of the lieutenant and kissing his throat. Tanner came undone when he played with his bare nipples, laughing as Allister made little bites at his throat. “Glad I got to be the one to see it.”

---

Tanner raised his goblet with the rest of the officers, acknowledging the weight of the words and morale it was intended to inspire. There was a nod and a handful of ayes and yeas of acknowledgement before the mess hall was permitted to eat, drink and be merry. Tanner leaned back into his seat but still maintained his posture. He broke the crust with his fork and took a bite, munching at his share of pigeon pie. The cooks made the crust too dry this time as he swallowed it down with water, the crumbling shortbread almost choking him. Half about to take another forkful into his mouth, he looked up and made eye contact with a familiar set of eyes.

A very intensely staring set of pale green eyes.

Allister tilted his head towards the left, impatience written all over his face. Tanner nodded in acknowledgement, as a way to say it was almost over, to hold out a while longer. He barely raised his fingers in a gesture, rolling his eyes with a huff as Allister turned back around to listen to men overestimating their victories, their power plays. Allister shrugged it off and added his own tales into the mix to keep himself busy.

Tanner waited for his cue to leave the room. Allister wouldn’t bother with that much.

---

Tanner walked slowly through the hallways of the quarters for the army, taking his time as images played in his head like tricky faeries leading him down a troubled path. He felt a pleasant shudder down his spine, touching his lips excitedly as if he could already feel the love bites and rough bruises, the blood that would come from a split lip. He stopped for a moment to gather himself, the hallway growing rather warm as he moved just a little faster, paces trying not to trip over themselves.

Every memory played like a song, crescendos and minor scales composed of grunts and moans and desperate pleas. Every touch had been branded on his skin anew; every plea etched in him like nails into a crucifix. The hallway kept getting warmer and he moved faster still, so very excited; adrenaline always set in when Allister looked at him the way he did across the mess hall.

Hunger.

The door opened to an empty room, an iron-wrought bed empty of anything aside from the red and gold sheets appropriate for the castle. He bit his lip, excited for the possibilities as he moved forward into the room, leaning forward to remove his boots. He stopped halfway when the door shut and, before he could turn around, he felt that hand on his chin, that other hand on his hips, and that wonderful mouth sighing every aggravation and salacious thought into his skin like fire into a blade. Fingers probed his mouth open, the taste of blood, dinner and ale on Allister’s fingers as Tanner moaned around them, his own hands pawing for his partner’s jawline. The bones were sharp like his sword, and he grinded against Allister, all but whimpering at his erection against his ass.

It was a strange ritual for the both of them: Allister would fuck Tanner prior to a battle for his nerves. But in return, Allister would arouse himself prior to those battles to perform better, run faster, kill more efficiently. And then they’d come into a room (each with their own and half moved into the other’s) to celebrate victory, a job well done, the fact they were both alive and still together.

“Did you have to stay for the whole dinner?” Allister sighed in Tanner’s skin, each word clipped with irritation and want.

“Does it matter,” Tanner offered, pushing against a man who was more lion than he; a majestic beast of power, a machine of musculature and well-honed tendons that decimated any man smaller than him.

Fortunately for Tanner, the upcoming decimation to him was more animal than lethal.

Allister sighed again, trying so hard to steady himself as he grinded against Tanner again as if he were a dog begging for a reward. Tanner laughed that little laugh of his when he was pleased with an outcome, grinding back against the foot soldier. Disrobing each other had become an art, mastered in several minutes compared to an average man’s half hour, their armor falling to the ground with loud, disrespectful clanks. Then came off the plains clothes and undershirt until Allister was in his undergarments, cotton bottoms for modesty.

The way Tanner looked at Allister was the definition of immodesty. If he were paler and more conscientious, the stonemason would’ve blushed at the ravenous gaze. Instead, he took to kissing him, hands gripping and pawing at Tanner, grabbing to whatever firm bit of flesh, fat, muscle he could hold on to.  Tanner pulled away, unlacing and removing his tunic and Allister happily thumbed the lieutenant’s nipples, amused by the lapse of concentration. A lick to the dark brown circles made Tanner mewl like a weaning kitten. His hands pressed against Allister’s chest, gripping at the firm pectorals and grazing down his abdominals and brushing past the pubic hair that trailed from his navel down to what Tanner wanted. He held Allister in his hands through the soft cotton, Allister feeling warm at the look Tanner gave him. He obliged them both, dropping his pants to reveal himself at full mast.

He twitched at Tanner’s body language, which all but indicated he was ready to drop to his knees and take him in his mouth. But they both wanted more than that.

Instead, Tanner got a glint in his eyes that put Allister on edge.

“Want to play a game?”

Tanner restrained a little grin at Allister’s breathy, “I like games. What kind of game?”

“I’ll show you.”

Allister looked down into that sneaky expression, all the playfulness in Tanner’s red-earth eyes suggesting something a little feisty. He couldn’t contain a wide grin, stepping back into their little dance as Tanner walked so very close to him, gently pushing him towards the bed behind him. Allister misjudged a pace and fell backwards into the soft cushions, pillowed by the red and gold embroidered duvet, the four poster bed framed in a canopy, restrained for the time being. Tanner straddled him, their bare chests pressed against each other as Allister kept scooting back into the pillows, head nearing the iron poles of the headboard.

“So, what wicked little thoughts are in your head, lieutenant?”

“Well, soldier,” he started, entertaining the banter. He reached into his pocket, pulling out a thin and very supple piece of leather scrap as he moved up to all but straddle Allister’s face.  A moan fell from his lips as Allister shoved his crotch against his nose, feeling him growl against him as he squeezed his ass impatiently. He was playing his own game, looking up at Tanner expectantly to see how he planned on retaliating.

Instead Tanner put the leather behind the iron and knotted it, before grabbing Allister’s wrists one at a time. For all his lackluster abilities in the actual processing of tanning (his namesake, no less,) Tanner was deft in the more decorative aspects of the craft, including tying and braiding, as he secured both of his friend’s wrists above his head together. Allister gave them a little tug, impressed that the leather didn’t budge but wasn’t cutting off his circulation.

“Restraining me? Not that we haven’t done that before—“

Tanner cut him off with a finger to his lips. Allister shuddered at that look he gave him; half-lidded eyes, as beguiling as they were dangerous. Instead of saying anything, Tanner crawled back down, painfully slow and biding his time. Allister showed his disapproval by bucking upwards, inadvertently cockslapping him with the head poking Tanner in the eye. He snorted at Tanner’s less than amused reaction until he saw the other surprise he had in his hand: an average size piece of leather, the kind used for drawstrings.

“The hell do you plan on doing with that.”

“Restraining you,” Tanner said simply.

Allister was about to open his mouth when Tanner held him and winced as Tanner took to it, wrapping the string around the base and knotted, around the balls and knotting again before pulling the tails together in one last knot against his head, below the slit. All in all, Tanner was rather pleased with the makeshift cockring, the way it seemed to make him look bigger, harder, closer; Allister wasn’t.

“Oh fuck you, I’ve been hard all fucking day and you do this shit!”

“Oh, you’re going to fuck me alright. Remember this being a game?”

Whatever self-righteous indignation Allister had went out the door when competition was reintroduced. He grunted for Tanner to explain himself, wincing as how the cockring made his pulse more noticeable, more intense. He eyed as the lieutenant with growing impatience from the corner of his eye as Tanner removed both his plains cloth trousers and the undergarments underneath, hard as a stone. He was smaller than him by two inches, not that it counted against him. He recalled the few times Tanner managed to dominate him, how easily he pushed aside any notions he was an overly tender, sentimental lover (even though he could be,) taking him slow and hard, savoring Allister like a dying man did a feast.

The room grew warmer while Tanner whispered the instructions in his ear like a secret. “I’m going to ride you. Your job is to break out of those restraints and have your way with me, before you or I come. I’m giving you a handicap.”

“A handicap? You insult me,” Allister murmured, less offended and more amused. “And if I don’t?”

“I think you will. I didn’t tie it so tight you couldn’t.”

Allister tested him with another tug, surprised he was right. It was firm, but breakable; not so frail like cotton but not as hard as steel. It was all about timing. Trust Tanner of all people to be the kind of person to put that sort of thought into a simple delayed climax. He looked back at himself, a moment of self-lust arising; no wonder Tanner looked at him the way he did. He was hard and flushed with his foreskin pulling back to reveal his almost doubly-sensitive head, precum pooling at the slit and dribbling down like rain on glass. The cockring squeezed and made each pulse thunder in his ears, making the red color bloom like a rose. He looked back up. “Ready.”

Tanner didn’t bother to respond, pushing himself down on Allister and making that goddamn moan that made the stonemason buck. He gave his own grunt in response when he felt Tanner clench around him, balling his hands into fists as he adjusted himself over his size.

He smiled that smile and said those words that made something stir in Allister every time: “Gods, I love how big you are.”

“I know,” Allister teased with a grin before bucking Tanner up again, all but throwing him off his lap. If he was going to be tied down and ridden like an animal, he was going to make breaking him a chore. Granted, that stubborn mare of Tanner’s was enough of a workout on that wonderful ass of his, Allister thought, yearning to grab a handful as he made another tug on his restraints.

Tanner forced his weight, pressing down into his lap, making bucking more difficult as he squeezed around Allister again and looked him in the eyes.  Allister licked his lips when Tanner’s fingers brushed against his own dark nipples, his cock also twitching as another hand went down to touch himself. He twitched again when Tanner moaned his name so sweetly, like a scandalous rumor between them. The soldier wanted to wreck that beautiful lieutenant until he couldn’t walk straight for a week, making another firm tug at his restraints.

“Gods, you feel so good, Allister,” Tanner sighed like a dream, touching his neck and lips.

“Back at you,” Allister retorted, bucking up into Tanner again, enjoying that strangled little moan of surprise.

They continued their erratic rhythm, Tanner trying to tame Allister into the show while Allister bucked and resisted like a stubborn stallion. He wasn’t going to lose, not to the lieutenant and the filthy way he moaned his name; the fantastic gripping he did while he was inside him; gods above, he was close—

But the leather was closer, finally ripping off and letting the foot soldier free as he flailed his arms up and latched onto Tanner’s hips, stopping him mid-thrust. Whatever smug, borderline-delirious expression he had was knocked off, including himself, from Allister’s lap, pinned down to the side as the man turned him around. Tanner thought the current position over, unable to control himself as he laughed into the mattress, even with Allister damn near digging his canines into Tanner’s shoulder like he wanted to eat him, hand gripping his hair as if to scalp him.

“What?” Allister growled in an almost predatory way, if it weren’t for the smirk.

“Nothing, nothing. I’ll tell you later,” he promised, turning his head towards Allister.  He gave that little smile of his and Allister leaned forward, kissing him as intensely as he could in their position.

Tanner moaned into his mouth when he pushed in, mounting him like an animal in heat. Allister braced himself for his own rhythm, his thrusts hard and punishing, dominating as he pulled Tanner to him. Every scream, cry, moan Tanner made into the bed made Allister go even harder and faster than he was; he loved it when Tanner begged for him like a wanton slut. What thrilled him more was that there was no one else he was hungry for. Allister had been Tanner’s first (barring the men and women he had bedded,) and to their knowledge, his only.

The position stopped satisfying him as Tanner made noises less of passion and more of discomfort; more than that, he wanted to hear him scream uninhibited in his lap. Allister pulled the lieutenant up and sat down, scarred back to scarred front, bucking him to the rhythm of Tanner’s downward pushing. Every guard, nobleman, slave in the castle would hear his name in the halls; gods, if that wasn’t an exciting prospect to his ego. He prodded that open mouth with his fingers, shuddering at the hot warmth of Tanner’s mouth as he sucked on them, knowing full well what that mouth was capable of. He kept bucking into his ass, his spit-coated hand leaving Tanner’s mouth to stroke his cock while a wicked idea sprouted.

Tanner yelped. “A-Allister! What—“

“Payback, sweetheart,” Allister murmured into his skin, kissing his cheek. His hand had Tanner in a vice grip, choking him as he kept fucking him, almost to where he came off his lap; his other hand kept him steady as they kept going. He put his forehead to Tanner’s shoulder, groaning like a beast; he felt so close and it was an almost exquisite sort of hurt. His hand was bruising his thigh, white and red blooming under his fingertips as Tanner had his hand gripping his, his free hand back to playing with his nipples, face, mouth; anything to bring him over. And he kept moaning his name until everyone in all the nations knew who was fucking him, like a prayer to a god.

Then, there was the other ‘handicap’ that Tanner didn’t elaborate on.

Something powerful overcame him; a dam broken. He pushed Tanner down into his lap and roared from the pit of his belly to the very back of his throat, yelling into the damp skin of Tanner’s back. It lasted longer than usual, release leaving him like blood from a fresh wound. And then it stilled as heavily as it had come. Allister thought he could hear a pin drop in that moment, the dust settling as if he had gone deaf for that whole five seconds after climaxing. It took Tanner coming with a pained not-quite-yell, not-quite moan when he came to and loosed his grip, opening his mouth to release the bit of skin on Tanner’s neck that pooled blood at the bite marks.

“Holy shit. Holy fucking shit,” was all he could say, shaking breath panting down Tanner’s back, forehead pressed against the middle of his upper back. He couldn’t remember the last time a climax felt like that: the kind where lightning reigned loose in his nerves, coursing like a vicious current that was settling after a hurricane; where his stomach plummeted everything inconsequential except how fucking good he felt all over. Every part of his core was like the warmest, all-encompassing fire without the pain or burning, labored breathing pushing against sweat as he shook still, trying to make black and white become colors again, willing blurs into shapes with lines and mass.

“Did you know that was going to happen?” Allister asked, eying Tanner in concern.

“Not that…intensely,” Tanner started, letting out a little whoosh of air from his mouth. He pushed at Allister who took his cue to remove himself, hissing at how cold he felt and placed Tanner beside him.

The lieutenant fell over, breathing heavily with the look of a man who had been properly, thoroughly fucked. Allister smiled at another look Tanner gave him, unsure where to place it but feeling warm all the same. He untangled his calves from under his buttocks, swinging them to the other side and laid next to his officer. He reached down and snapped off the cockring as it fell into little pieces between his thighs. He then rolled back to face Tanner with an anticipating grin, propping himself up with one arm.

“Where the hell did you learn something like that?”

Tanner laughed and put his face into the blankets for a laugh before bringing it back up. “Overheard the others talk about a whorehouse. Wanted to see what would happen.”

Allister laughed and picked himself up and reached out a hand for Tanner’s. The lieutenant obliged as Allister pulled him down on top, pushing them both back against the headboard and into the pillows. For a moment, he held him, enjoying the afterglow as his pulse started feeling normal again. The room stopped spinning and his thoughts were beginning to gather themselves. Tanner was starting to fall asleep against him, sleep and exhaustion winning out, a pleasant color and sweaty sheen covering him like sheer fabric. Allister really hoped he made good on his own promise that Tanner wasn’t going to be able to walk properly for a few days.

A thought dawned on him. “Hey. What were you laughing about earlier?”

Tanner thought it over before his expression changed to somewhere between being stunned and trying not to go into hysterical laughter. He placed a hand over the love bite, wincing a bit but still not able to control himself. “Just--- You biting me on my neck with my ass in the air and face in the mattress, I--- kind of thought this is what a queen has to feel like when a tom mates with her.”

Allister blinked, incredulity written on his face. “…as in a tom cat? You seriously thought about cats fucking while we were?”

“Hey, hey, you were the one who put me in that position. I just put the pieces together where they wanted to go.” Tanner brushed off his own excuse like he brushed his hair from the side of his face, grinning from ear to ear. Allister pulled the lieutenant up for one last kiss before sleep grabbed them both into the dark reaches of the night.

---

Heru came in like the dark, unknown and unfathomable. She dressed in blacks, a specter that was just beyond Tama’s reach mentally and physically. She gritted her teeth; it could be worse. She didn’t want it to be worse; she wanted it to be clean. Spotless, in order and in place; chaos had never been her strong point. She grabbed at something, looking—

“Put that down.”

Tama glared at her for all she was worth, as subtle as she could be. Which was to say: not at all. She looked pouty, petulant like a reprimanded child who was having her favorite toy taken away. Heru looked at what she had: a random electronic, disassembled and mining parts for scrap.

“Tama, it needs to be put away,” Heru started. She didn’t know where Tama kept a workshop, but it was filthy and needed to be out of sight. She eyed another item, a sort of figurine or token. Heru scrunched her nose at it in distaste. “There’s nothing wrong with keeping things tidy, after all.”

“I like the mess just fine,” Tama huffed. Her tone was sharp, matched with the heavy stomping of her boots. Before Heru could react, Tama snatched the items from her stepmother, pulling them into her negligible chest. They were her things; this was her house; Jin was her father.

The sky was dark outside, tense as the air between them. Heru sighed, exasperation heavy in her controlled expression. “Tama, please cooperate. I just want the house to be clean.”

“Dad doesn’t mind the mess and neither do I,” she said, low and bitter. “Why don’t you just deal with it.”

The level of disrespect she had for her stepmother was equal to the level of dislike. Her stepmother was the opposite of her: controlled, calculating, deliberate. Tama knew how her stepmother looked at her, disapproving of her haphazard lifestyle and grungy appearance. She would try to encourage Tama to tidy up, to put herself together; everything was changes Tama never wanted.

She wanted her father to be happy. Was he really happy with this woman?

She wasn’t.

“Tama, why does everything have to be a fight between us?” Heru started, trying to appeal to reason. “Please. I just want this house to be presentable, for us to get along—“

“Stop that.”

If looks could hurt, the glare Tama had sent would’ve singed Heru.

“Stop trying to act like you’re my mom already! Just,” Tama tried to catch her words. “Stop. Disappear. Leave me alone.”

The girl darted upstairs to put her things away. Heru watched as she heard the sound of rustling and she followed soon after, teeth gritted. That girl, that girl, that goddamned little bi—

She stopped herself on the spiral staircase, hand to her mouth. It tasted like oil and sick. A weight sank into her stomach, heavy as poison. She heard the sound of a window opening; damn that girl. She was left to clean the mess alone. It was starting to rumble outside and she’d come in, wet and filthy like a mangy dog.

The sky outside was appropriate, an inky mire with no definite horizon line.

Wouldn’t it be easier if she were gone –

Heru gritted her teeth, blood cold like the sweat on her brow. Her belly tightened, abdominal muscles clenching as fear dared to set in. She shook her head, taking to pacing; action cut off thought, refocusing. Her self-control had loosened like an improperly laced corset as she inhaled sharply, pulling the laces back together. She couldn’t let the leash slack, not after all these years. Her fingers knotted in her hair, nails pressed into her scalp like a threat. She could work through this, through this anger; banish it outside with the dust mites and filth.

Anxiety kept her firmly in the same ten paces she kept working into the floor, shoes scuffing. It bubbled through her ribs, up her spinal column: a voice, barely above a whisper. Everything from her teeth to her arteries tightened, constricting, keeping the thoughts at bay like wolves to a shotgun. She turned back to her and Jin’s bedroom, making a beeline to the ebony wood vanity.

It was decorated with salves, perfumes and makeup. The bottles and containers were set in neat rows, little soldiers awaiting their daily routine. And she knocked them over like chess pieces, every vial shattering on the floor. Every thought pelted at her like the rain, rotting through her.

An ungrateful, homely little brat-

It’s easier if she were gone-

You’re just a replacement-

She’s never going to love you—

“What does it matter,” said Heru to the wood and her clenched hands. She snapped her head up to her reflection. No one would recognize her, not with the crazed terror in her eyes or the splayed hair out of place. Her jaws were firm like cut marble, words cutting a promise to her and the void in their joined tongue. “What matters is that I care for her like a daughter. What matters is I care for my husband like a wife should. I don’t need her to love me.”

Her heart ached at such a cold statement. “Not outwardly.”

She held her chest, trying to protect her heart from a miasmic darkness that wanted to consume her very core. The vanity creaked as her nails pressed into the wood, keratin breaking into splinters. She breathed heavily, shaking.

We could make this so much easier.

She ground her teeth. “I don’t want easy,” she spat, punctuating each word like a hammer to a row of nails. “I want efficient. I want logic. I want order.”

You are weak; all humans are. The words bubbled through her like sludge. Why do you fight your base instincts.

She could feel swimming in her stomach. It won’t bring back—

“Shut up!”

The silence that settled between the void and her matched the aftermath of a bomb. Dust settled as the wind from the storm brewed outside, scattering dust and dirt. She shook, a willow tree standing tall in a typhoon as the fronds whipped itself in the frenzied wind. She exhaled and rose up slowly, tilting her head up high. She focused on the exchange of air in her lungs, the feeling of her heart pumping blood, and the tight curling of her toes. She opened a drawer and pulled out a handkerchief, wiping her brow line as she stared down her reflection.

She was tired, eyes heavy and black as they threatened to sag off her sharp cheekbones. She was almost pitiful; she closed her eyes to the stranger in the glass. She breathed one more time and reopened, the dark circles now of work and drive, her hands worked to exhaustion for a purpose. The air shifted around her, the howling of the wind and rain background noise; the storm would blow over in due time.