Strongman (17 page)

Lufra’s tits, what a pity he couldn’t breathe underwater! Fort hung on until his lungs began to burn. At the very last second, he reached out and grabbed the soap from its resting place between two rocks, emerging from the water in a huge flurry, gasping.

Immediately, Griff reached down and wrapped his fingers around Fort’s cock and he had to suck in air all over again. “Gods, your mouth was so hot!” gasped the tumbler, pumping in a businesslike kind of way. Fort’s eyes crossed.

“No,” he grunted, trying to push the hand away without success. Shit, the little bastard was strong! Finally, he succeeded in clamping his fingers over Griff’s. “I want it slow this time. I didn’t—”

The tumbler rubbed his chest against Fort’s, their flesh sliding together in the water, slick and cool. “Didn’t what?”

He hadn’t had time to look, to savor, to crawl over the other man’s body, examine every fascinating inch, run his tongue over all those hollows and dips. But he couldn’t say any of that. He compromised. “I should have taken more care.”

Griff chuckled. “Any more care and you would have killed me.”

“It was good then?” The words tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop them. What was wrong with him? He needed reassurance like a virgin staring down at the blood on her thighs?

Griff slid his arms around Fort’s waist. He nipped the meat of his chest, sucked a nipple into his hot mouth, making the big man hiss and buck. “It was fucking fabulous.” He pulled back, staring into Fort’s face. “The best, just the best…” He shook his head. “Twister, I can’t get the words straight. I thought I was going to die. Then I thought you were going to die too. And one day, someone would find our bones tangled together, here in the middle of nowhere.” His smile went crooked and he shivered.

“Come on.” Gently, Fort turned him around. “Let’s get you clean and dry. Hold still.” Griff’s protests died when Fort rubbed the soap over his neck and shoulders, carefully avoiding the grazes. He arched and purred, leaning into the stroke, wriggling with pleasure when Fort leaned over to slick hard palms over his chest and down to his groin, handling his cock and testicles with scrupulous attention. He hissed when Fort parted the cheeks of his ass with his thumbs.

But it was Fort who flinched. “Sore?”

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Griff cast him a dark glance over his shoulder. “You’re not exactly puny.” Then he smiled. “Hey. Don’t look like that. Tomorrow.” He spun around and nipped the side of Fort’s jaw. “You can have my ass again tomorrow. But in the meantime…”

Today was all Fort had, all he could allow himself. Because he couldn’t live his life like this, not every, ordinary day after day and still be Fort McLaren, still be the man he knew. This was a time out of time, a dark, shining secret graven on his soul. Precious.

But he couldn’t prevent the sly thought that it wouldn’t be difficult to persuade Griff to come away with him again, somewhere like this. He looked around. Yes, somewhere
exactly
like this.

Griff took another nibble, on the shoulder this time, and Fort closed his eyes, telling the thought to go to hell. The tumbler deserved better and he… No. Think about the moment, only the moment. He couldn’t risk the other man’s life to satisfy his own crooked lusts. Tomorrow he’d escort Griff back to the Valaressa road and send him on his way.

Something small and sad and stupid whimpered deep in his chest, but he told it to shut up. He got Griff out of the water and over to the tents so quickly it felt like levitation. He scrabbled through the ruins, muttering under his breath. Coming up with a bath sheet, he threw it over Griff’s shoulders and began blotting up the water, rubbing him dry with rough, efficient strokes.

He ignored the tumbler’s protests, toweling his hair so vigorously, his head rocked and his voice came out muffled from under the folds. “Twister, man, you’re not my bloody mother.” Strong hands twitched the bath sheet from his grasp. “I brought my own, though…” A brow rose as Griff fingered the fabric. “The quality’s nowhere near as good as this.”

Griff tossed the towel back to Fort, then grabbed a corner of something blue and tugged, extracting Fort’s bedroll from under the collapsed tent. Completely unselfconscious, he lifted it to his cheek and rubbed. “Mmm. Silk filled with rasa bird down. Feels gorgeous.” He shot Fort a shrewd glance. “Expensive.”

Fort shrugged. “On campaign, a good night’s rest can make the difference between life and death. I buy the best I can afford.” Suddenly impatient, he took it from the other man and spread it in the dappled shade of a candlewood tree.

“No,” said Griff slowly, coming to stand at his shoulder and staring down. “There’s more to it than that. Why did you choose this particular shade of blue?”

Griff’s hair stood up in ridiculous tufts, like the crest of a startled bird. Absently, Fort smoothed it, his hand continuing down to clasp the nape of the tumbler’s neck. He shrugged. “It’s nice. Why not?”

“But why the pattern?” With his chin, Griff indicated the pack of fellwolves embroidered the entire length of the bedroll, their elegant limbs lean and stretched as they ran full-out toward some far horizon, muzzles raised to howl. “It’s the work of a real artist, isn’t it?”

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“She charged enough.” His blood humming, Fort stepped in behind Griff, shifting his hands to the other man’s shoulders and running them down over the solidity of muscle and bone to the dense shapely swells of his biceps. Gods, his skin was beautiful, warm with life and glowing with virile health. Unblemished, save for that wicked scar on his hip. Not soft like a woman’s, but resilient, heated satin to his touch.

“You use Sereian cups for roberry,” said Griff slowly, staring down at the fellwolves.

Fort grunted, stroking over the other man’s collarbones and down to the slab of his pectoral muscle. Griff’s nipple was a fleshy pebble thrusting into his palm, his heartbeat strong and a little fast. Fort closed his eyes and pulled the tumbler closer, sealing them together from chest to knee, his half-hard cock nestling happily in the cleft of Griff’s ass.

Bending his head, he shoved his nose into the tumbler’s neck and inhaled.

Griff reached back to grip Fort’s thigh, but his body didn’t relax. “You act so tough, but you love beautiful things, don’t you?” he said at last. It wasn’t a question.

When Fort didn’t reply, he twisted around in his arms, staring up into his face.

“
Don
’
t you
?”

Fort’s mouth went dry. Very slowly, he reached out and cradled Griff’s jaw, the sword calluses on his fingers rasping over the other man’s light morning stubble. “I like things of value,” he said. His voice came out so low and husky he could hardly hear it himself. “Things that are well-made last for a long, long time.”

Griff’s sloe eyes heated and danced. His shaft kicked against Fort’s thigh. “So they do,” he said. “So they do.” He reached up, burying strong fingers in the big man’s hair, pulling his head down. “Kiss me, love.” His tongue whisked over Fort’s lower lip, then he took it between strong teeth and tugged lightly. Fort’s breath hitched. Griff murmured into his mouth, “Fuck me.”

With a groan, Fort sank his fingers into Griff’s ass, bent his head and ravaged the other man’s mouth. His heart galloped, fast and unsteady. Ruler God, what had he done? What had he said? Something had changed, something irrevocable. And he hadn’t meant it to. Griff rasped a thumb over his nipple, reached down for his aching cock with a blessedly firm grip and anything resembling rational thought fragmented and blew away.

Tomorrow. He’d think about it tomorrow.

When Fort took him down to the bedroll, Griff went willingly, his heart singing. But he snagged the bath sheet and managed to shove it beneath him. No sense in ruining a work of art.

Fort loomed over him, his gray eyes smoky with passion. “Lie still,” he growled, grabbing one of Griff’s wrists and pulling his arm up over his head.

His heartbeat accelerating, Griff grinned and said nothing. He cocked an insolent brow and ran a thumb over the broad, slippery head of the big man’s shaft.

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Fort jerked and swore. “Let go,” he said through clenched teeth. “I can’t think when—”

“Then don’t think.”

Fort wrenched Griff’s hand away. “No,” he insisted. “I want to look.” The blood rose in a ruddy tide over his neck and cheeks. “Experiment.”

Fire licked up Griff’s spine, spread in a burning wave through his pelvis. His rectal muscles clenched down hard and his cock twitched. His throat suddenly dry, he swallowed, but even then he found he couldn’t speak. Instead, he raised his other arm, clasping his hands together over his head. Waiting to be devoured.

But Fort stroked down slowly from Griff’s wrists to his armpits. The tender skin tingled and he twitched. One corner of Fort’s mouth lifted. “Ticklish?”

“No!”

“Liar,” murmured Fort and continued the leisurely touch over chest and ribs. Then he bent his head and took a long lick up the muscle in the side of the other man’s neck.

Griff gasped.

“Mmm. You like that.” Gentle nibbles, small stinging bites.

Griff writhed, and his hips tilted up of their own accord.

“Tastes good. Let’s see what else you like.”

“I can tell you.” Griff rolled his pelvis as a hint.

“Don’t move.” Fort laid a firm hand on Griff’s aching, suffering cock, not squeezing or pumping, just monitoring progress. “I want to find out for myself.”

Ten minutes later, Fort pulled back, breathing heavily, his eyes slumberous, heavy-lidded with lust. “Lufra’s tits, you like everything, don’t you?”

Griff’s nipples burned, the hard peaks stiff and engorged, throbbing from the hot suction of Fort’s mouth, his gentle tugs and nips. His guts were tangled up in a heavy, fiery ball and his cock wept desperate, oily tears of frustration. Every muscle in his body was locked, tense and shaking. Fort had found every pleasure point he possessed, including some he hadn’t been aware of. He’d had no idea that strong fingers massaging his scalp would make him boneless, or that a hot, wet tongue behind his ear would force a whimper from his throat. Fort’s touch on his belly, his thighs, sent vicious little whips of lightning deep inside his empty ass, echoing in his balls.

And his grip on Griff’s throbbing cock hadn’t changed. No matter how often the younger man tried to thrust against him, Fort’s hand remained firm, but maddeningly light. His only consolation was the feel of Fort’s heavy shaft nudging his thigh, the rapid rise and fall of his chest and the sweat on his brow.

Driven beyond reason, Griff reared up, sinking desperate fingers into Fort’s shoulders. “Damn you,” he panted. “For the gods’ sake,
do something
!”

“Yes.” They both stared down at the rosy head of Griff’s cock, appearing and reappearing in Fort’s fist, first compressed by his grip, then springing free, dense and rounded and smooth, the slit gaping like a little mouth, dribbling its secretions.

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Fort increased the pressure, dragging Griff’s foreskin up and over the ultrasensitive glans, squeezing and rubbing. The younger man arched in an ecstasy of driving, pinpoint sensation. Seed boiled in his balls, pressing against the tender skin, seething at the base of his cock. Gods, oh gods! The intensity of it was almost too much. His heart thundered in his chest, the blood pounding in his ears, filling his head, blinding him to everything save Fort. The big man’s touch was rough, brutally knowing. His eyes had gone almost black with lust and concentration and they were all Griff could see.

With his last scrap of sanity, he reached out and wrapped his fingers around Fort’s solid girth. Satisfaction flooded through him when the other man moaned and shoved forward into his grasp. “Shit, yes!” he rumbled. “Hard. Ruler, do it hard!”

Two cocks, stiff and throbbing, as red as each other. Two sets of strong fingers, jerking up and down. Their heads bent to watch, their rasping breath mingling.

Fuck, it was wanton, lewd—magnificent.

A deep groan ripped out of Fort’s chest. His cock rippled and kicked in Griff’s fingers. The orgasm sprayed out of him, Griff’s a heartbeat behind. Hot, thick gobbets of semen splattered over their bellies, spilled over their fingers.

Fuck, it was good. So good.

Fighting for breath, for sense, Griff gentled his grip, milking every last drop from the other man’s shaft, while Fort did the same for him, his cheek resting against the top of Griff’s skull. His breath stirred the tumbler’s hair, his massive chest rising and falling like a bellows.

“Twister! C’mere.” Griff tugged Fort down to the bedroll and plastered their bodies together, burying his nose in the mat of black hair on the big man’s chest. Fort slid an arm around him, holding him tight, and their hearts slowed together. The natural sounds of the glade gradually reasserted themselves, the vranee placidly feeding, the water and the wind in the trees.

At last, Fort sighed and relaxed. He threw a heavy thigh over Griff’s, his hand draping casually over the other man’s shoulder, fingers brushing his collarbone. The tumbler murmured, replete. Gods, he’d never felt so sated, so totally and comprehensively and beautifully fucked. He’d get up for a damp cloth in a minute. His eyes fluttered shut.

Fort’s fingertips traced over his skin, paused. “How’d you break it?”

“Mm. Break what?”

“Your collarbone. There’s a lump here.”

“Oh that.” Griff smiled without opening his eyes. “Showing off on the high wire. I fell.”

A pause. “Idiot.” Fort gave him a little shake.

“Have a heart. I was twelve.”

A longer pause. “Is that what you were doing when you climbed the candlewood tree? Showing off?”

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Griff levered one eye open, too warm and loose to bother with feeling insulted.

“No. It gives a view for miles.” He let the lid slide closed again. “And you’re too heavy, so don’t even think it.”

Fort grunted, one of those all-purpose sounds that meant everything and nothing.

“What did you see?”