The Red King (17 page)

Andrew licked his lips. “We are alone.”

Rory was sorely tempted, eyeing those lips
and the pink tongue just beyond. He knew they must follow his plan.
“We must ride,” he said, cursing the need to wait, yet again.

“So soon?” Andrew asked. His disappointment
flavored the words sweetly to Rory’s ear.

“Yes, we need to put as much distance between
us and the city as possible before the sun rises,” Rory answered.
He turned to Brighid and found his burnoose stowed carefully under
one of the straps. Gratefully, he removed it and wrapped it around
his shoulders against the cool night air.

Andrew returned to his camel, saying not
another word. When he was mounted, he covered his head and face
once more and waited. He held himself stiffly in the terik, the
Bedouin-style saddle, and stared forward.

Rory read the frustration in his squared
shoulders and sighed. Moving Brighid closer, close enough that his
leg pressed into the camel’s side, he reached out and tugged the
fabric down to expose all of Andrew’s face. “I’m not sure we are
safe here, Andrew. I would rather wait for dawn, when we can make
camp and rest without concern,” he said, taking that proud chin
with his fingers.

“In my mind I know that. It’s just that I
want…” Andrew stopped. His cheeks colored and he looked away.

Rory smiled, happy to hear Andrew confess his
hunger, happier than perhaps was wise. “Hold fast. The time
approaches when we’ll have no distractions.”

This leg of their journey was tedious. There
was only the light afforded by the moon and their path was
alternately rocky and barred by thick shrubbery. Yet they made
steady progress with Rory’s careful navigation.

“You’re good with the camel,” Rory commented,
noting the ease with which Andrew handled the animal. He sat in the
terik comfortably, not once seeming overbalanced or in danger of
falling.

“Etienne made me practice, to be sure I could
do it,” Andrew answered. He leaned over and scratched Esme’s head,
appreciatively. “And she’s very patient.”

Rory laughed. “Camels aren’t known for their
dispositions. No, you’ve charmed her. It is your Changeling blood,
I suspect, that has the beasts favoring you.”

“Is that your excuse, as well?” Andrew
grinned.

“I will use it as such, if necessary,” Rory
said, smiling in return.

They passed the next while in companionable
silence. The moon was lowering in the sky, beginning to touch the
tips of the mountains in the distance when Rory recognized a
particular peak. He knew they were midway to the stopping point.
“We turn to the north soon. We should be able to stop come first
light.”

The turn north came more quickly than Rory
remembered. He was glad for it, for Andrew appeared to be sleeping
in his saddle. Rory took one of the reins, sliding it carefully
from its rider’s hand, and looped it over his own pommel. He guided
the animal the rest of the way, finding the stream just as the sky
started to grey. Gently, he tapped Andrew on the knee, not wanting
to startle him. “We’ve arrived,” he called, softly.

Andrew opened his eyes, straightened
immediately and said, “Yes, I’m awake.” Then he caught sight of the
stream, its grassy banks lined on one side by ground hugging plants
with painful looking spines. Beside it was a copse of trees laden
with oblong, bright yellow fruit. “Or maybe I’m not.”

“Are you able to help me with the shelter?”
Rory asked lowering himself from Brighid’s back.

“Of course,” Andrew replied, stifling a yawn.
He had the camel kneeling and was on his feet momentarily,
stretching with a puzzled look on his face.

“What causes you to look so confused?”

“I did not expect…such abundance. I pictured
the desert, or maybe rocks like we crossed last night.”

“This feeds into the Seybouse which then
flows all the way into Tunisia. We will not be going that far. Our
path takes us north, back to the sea,” Rory said, unhooking the
woolen tent from Andrew’s saddle.

“How long will it take?” Andrew asked,
yawning again.

“That depends on how late we start out this
evening.” Rory watched Andrew unwind the wrap, down to a simple
black tunic and drawstring pants beneath. Against them his skin
seemed even more lustrous, and the depth of the color gave his form
a lithe, feline appearance. The kohl around his eyes had spread, as
it was meant to, making them seem even more startlingly blue.

Andrew caught him staring and paused, the
corners of his mouth curled up just a bit. “We are alone.”

“Yes, we are,” Rory answered, dropping the
still bound tent and moving to him.

Within moments, they were stretched out in
the grass, hands wandering as they kissed hungrily. Andrew was
moaning and thrusting his hips up into Rory’s even as the other man
pressed him down. When Rory untied the string of his trousers and
shoved his hand down their front, Andrew shouted. Rory went to his
neck, now arched and straining and begging for lips and teeth.

He expected Andrew to moan or cry out,
certainly not giggle. “Brighid!”

Rory raised his head and saw Brighid nuzzling
at Andrew’s face. He was trying to gently push her away, but she
returned each time to press her nose against his cheek.

“Brighid, must you? Now?” Rory asked.

She nodded, blowing agitatedly.

Sighing, Rory buried his face into Andrew’s
neck. “We will return to this, immediately.”

Andrew sighed with him, but still chuckled.
“I think she did not like the noise. I will have to be more
subdued.”

“You will scream unto heaven and she will be
lashed to a tree,” Rory said his ear. When Brighid started lipping
at Rory’s shirt, he pulled away to stand. “Fine! Fine! Let me see
what Etienne has packed,” he grumbled.

Determinedly, he forced his thoughts to the
mundanity of caring for Brighid; removing her saddle and blanket,
lashing her reins to a tree by the stream, and searching the packs
on the now sleeping camel as he removed them. He heard Andrew
straining with the ropes as he hoisted the tent, but he did not
look at him lest they neglect their duties again. Rory quickly
inventoried their stores; flatbread, dried meats and fruits, water
and a full wineskin, three fresh red apples and a hand-high bottle
of fragrant oil. “Ah, Etienne,” he murmured, smiling to
himself.

He fed two of the apples to Brighid. She
nickered and whinnied and Rory couldn’t tell if she was jealous or
laughing at him. “You are a shrew. You’re lucky you are beautiful
or I would sell you to the next junk trader I see,” he said to her,
softly. He stroked her nose and left her nibbling the sweet
grass.

Esme opened one eye to acknowledge him when
he removed the final pack from the terik. “I suppose you will be
fine where you are?” he asked her. She raised her head only to turn
it to the other side. “Good.”

Rory turned to the tent and paused. Andrew
had strung it between two trees, only using one staff to support
the rear. It was low, not tall enough to stand in and barely wide
enough for their stores and themselves. Flaps came down to enclose
the interior making it dark and inviting. The front remained open
and Rory could see it was floored with two rugs and a single
bedroll. Half on the bedroll, head resting on his clasped hands,
lay Andrew. Sleeping soundly.

Not knowing whether he wanted to laugh or
rail at the sky, Rory crawled into the shelter. Carefully, he
slipped his arm beneath Andrew and pulled him onto his shoulder.
Andrew sighed deeply and curled around him, slipping one leg across
Rory’s thigh.
Surely, there are similar tortures in Hell
,
Rory thought with an internal sigh. Still, he was very comfortable,
and Andrew’s rhythmic breathing was a balm to his soul.

Rory jerked awake, heart hammering in his
chest. His dream was fading, but he could hear the fading rumble of
cannons in the distance. No, not cannons, it came from the stream.
Brighid was making high, nervous sounds and he was one second from
springing up to come to her aid. He did not get the chance.

The lion sauntered into view on the opposite
bank. He was massive, his black mane thick and lengthy, growing
down to his belly. He made noises deep in his chest, a constant
growl that vibrated across Rory’s skin. The beast was wholly
disinterested in their camp, in Brighid, though his presence
clearly disturbed the horse. Rory waited. He expected him to move
on, but there was movement in the fruit trees. This was what the
lion wanted.

She was beautiful, seemingly unaware of the
male approaching, but her crouched position was all the lion
needed. The lioness made a sound, a sort of scream, and Andrew came
awake beside him. “What…” he started to say, but Rory quieted him
with a finger to his lips.

“Look,” Rory whispered. Quietly he moved over
Andrew, settling at his back. Slipping one hand into Andrew’s
trousers, he breathed into Andrew’s ear, “Watch.”

The lioness was still, coiled tight as she
waited for the male to mount her. When he did, she growled, and
commenced panting as he thrust into her. The lion bit the back of
her neck and made low, chuffing sounds. It lasted only a moment and
both animals reacted with alarming viciousness. The lioness reared
back, lunging for the male’s throat and the lion swatted her head
with one huge paw. They separated with angry snarls.

Andrew had gone hard against Rory’s palm as
soon as the lion had mounted. He was shaking.

“Are you afraid?” Rory asked, still just a
breath in Andrew’s ear.

Andrew nodded, wordlessly.

“We are nothing to them. It is only each
other they see,” Rory told him. Andrew began to move against his
hand, his trembling became more pronounced when Rory thrust against
him in tandem. “They are driven by nature to mate. All other urges
are abandoned for that sole pursuit.”

The lioness had walked away but now returned.
She positioned herself at the lion’s feet and he took her
again.

“He will take her dozens of times and she
will come back for more.”

“Does it hurt her? It sounds…like it hurts
her,” Andrew whispered. His breath was coming more quickly.

“Even if it does, she willingly gives herself
to him.” Rory was running his lips across Andrew’s neck, licking up
into his hairline, behind his ear. He nipped and Andrew shuddered,
so he did it again. “Does that hurt?” he asked, kissing the
reddening mark.

“Yes, a little.”

“Does it add to your pleasure?” Rory squeezed
his cock and bit him again.

Andrew gasped then moaned. “Oh, yes,
yes.”

Rory rolled forward, putting his weight
entirely on Andrew. He heard the resulting groan, muffled into the
carpet for fear of the prowling beasts outside. With his free hand
he pushed himself up, going back on his haunches and lifted Andrew
at the hips as he rose. Andrew came up on his elbows with a yelp
and he looked to the big cats. Neither animal showed any interest
in what they were doing. “Rory,” he whispered, thrusting into
Rory’s curled fingers. “Please.”

Releasing Andrew’s cock, Rory loosened his
drawstring and hurriedly pushed the trousers down, yanking them at
his feet until they were gone. He reached into that last bag,
carelessly thrown atop the others when he came to rest, and pulled
out Etienne’s bottle of oil. The sweet smell of almonds filled the
tent when Rory poured some on his fingers, letting it drip onto
Andrew’s lovely pale hole. He tried to be gentle but Andrew still
jumped when he pressed his fingers past the entrance. He added more
oil as he prodded and stretched, responding to Andrew’s gasps and
soft moans with soothing murmurs. When Andrew pressed back, opening
for his third finger, Rory’s patience abandoned him.

“Andrew, I’m sorry. I can’t wait
anymore.”

The oil helped, but Andrew still made that
mewling, pained sound when Rory pushed in his cock. One hand flew
back to halt the forward momentum, holding Rory’s thigh while he
took slow, deep breaths. Rory was the one trembling now, holding
still while half his cock was wrapped in the velvet heat and
pressure of Andrew’s ass. “Christ, Andrew, I have to,” he groaned
and thrust again.

Rory knocked Andrew’s hand away and dug his
fingers in at the hip. He pulled back and sank in all way. Andrew
was crying, or maybe laughing; the blood rushing in Rory’s ears
made it difficult to tell. He didn’t try to pull away, though, even
when Rory set to fucking him with a long, steady stroke. Andrew
gasped, moaned, even screamed, but he only ever pushed back,
meeting Rory’s hips with equal ferocity.

Covering Andrew, as the lion did his mate,
Rory reached down to take Andrew’s hot, hard cock once more. He
pulled and thrust, trapping Andrew between palm and prick. Andrew
began to lose the rhythm, his hips stuttering. “Howl for me,
Coinin,” Rory commanded, and set his teeth to the back of Andrew’s
neck.

The sound of Andrew’s voice, the sudden
clench of muscles on his cock, and the slippery hot come spilling
over his hand pleased Rory so thoroughly that his climax followed.
He bit harder, frenzied, thrusting until he too screamed unto
heaven. For a moment he was drifting, insensible from pleasure and
weak with release. He came back to himself when Andrew collapsed,
grunting as Rory’s weight finally overpowered his shaking
limbs.

Quickly, Rory pulled out and gathered Andrew
close to him. It was quiet, save for their panting and Brighid’s
regular blowing. “The lions are gone,” Rory whispered.

Andrew’s hand crept up to touch his face.
“Not all of them,” he answered.

Such pleasure…such joy…he was at peace after
the throes of if had wracked his body. His body was limp. His mind
clear. Then there was fire across his back and he screamed. The
fire went on and on, peeling his flesh away, leaving nothing but
blood and muscle and he cried, begged for it to stop. Stop. Please
stop.