Page 16

Charon thought of Aster saying much the same thing to Nikos long ago. “It isn’t pleasant, but it was necessary.”

Yves took a deep breath. “What do you need to come down from it?”

Charon raised his brows. “I’ll be fine.”

“You walked into a fire, saved someone’s life, and then used your dominance to calm down a tortured kid. Let’s just assume you’re not fine. I’m not fine, and I was just watching.”

Charon almost brushed it aside, but he thought of Aster lying in his arms, pitying Nikos for what the interrogators made him do. “I never learned what makes it better.”

Yves looked like he wanted to kick something again.

“We’re going to tell Sabre what we heard, and I’m staying in your room tonight.

” Charon opened his mouth, and Yves shook his head.

“You’ll have to tie me to my bed otherwise.

Just let someone else take care of you before you decide to, I don’t know, overthrow the monarchy on your day off and install a republic. ”

“That might be beyond my skill,” Charon said.

“Good.” Yves smoothed down his hair with shaky fingers and grabbed Charon by the arm. “It’s about time that you found a limit.”

Yves scrubbed out the tea kettle in Charon’s room and tried not to think about the smell of charred wood drifting through the Pleasure District.

He knew that life wasn’t exactly charmed for most courtesans.

It certainly hadn’t been for Sabre de Valois, when he’d been sentenced to serving in the district after his family was charged with treason.

If it was seen as a punishment only slightly better than being hanged at the gallows, it could probably stand to undergo a change or two.

But Yves hadn’t really considered it much.

Being a courtesan had been so simple for him—almost laughably so, after a lifetime of raising his own siblings and working on the farm.

It was easy to ignore the ugly, dark corners of the district when he was living in the House of Onyx with a carefully curated list of devoted clients.

He thought of the way the boy had leaned toward Charon like a whipped dog seeking a gentle hand, and had to set the kettle down and stare into the fireplace. Unfortunately, that only made him think of Charon rushing into the fire in the House of Silver.

Charon was still downstairs, talking to Laurent and Sabre.

The courtesans from the House of Silver were all staying in empty rooms in other houses for now, including the House of Onyx, but they probably wouldn’t be allowed to take clients until they had a new place to stay.

Percy had invited Yves to stay with him, Nanette, and Simone in his house in town, since the district was effectively closed that night, but Yves busied himself in Charon’s room instead, cleaning his already spotless shelves and rearranging blankets on the couch.

Charon had seemed odd back in the guard house.

He hadn’t been odd in the way a person would be after risking his life in a burning building; his demeanor had changed when he sat down on the cell floor.

Even his face had shifted, muscles moving in a way Yves hadn’t seen before, his expression that of a stranger.

The way he’d held himself was different, and he hadn’t spoken in the lower city accent he had since Yves first met him.

His speech was curt despite the soft tone of his voice, his vowels clipped, and there was something unusual in the way he pronounced words like were and fire.

It was the echo of an accent Yves had only heard when he was new to the House of Onyx, and Yves would bet his right arm that it came from Arktos.

Why did interrogating a prisoner, even so gently as Charon had done, make him more of an Arkoudai?

Yves had just finished steeping a pot of tea when Charon came back.

He’d set Charon’s favorite books on the side table, the cookie tin he knew Charon usually kept for Yves’ benefit was out just in case, and he had a pair of towels and a case of supplies from his room.

He put on his most pitiful expression when Charon eyed the towels. “Tea in the bath, please?”

“You’re using your spank me voice,” Charon said. He was still talking a little like an Arkoudai, short and abrupt, without the comfortable roundness of Starian speech. The talk in the cells was probably still weighing on him.

“Yes, but this time it means, you’re covered in soot and tea in the bath is better than smelling like a house fire. ”

Charon raised his brows when Yves picked up the cookie tin, but Yves hadn’t pulled out his best pleading-submissive act for nothing. They took the tea to the baths, which Yves had already filled with scented water.

“I know I’m not your submissive,” Yves said, trying not to sound like he was wheedling, “but you might need a temporary one. Just for tonight.”

“I would rather not use my dominance at the moment, Yves.” Charon stripped down, and Yves tried not to stare at the way his thigh muscles shifted as he stepped into the bath.

“Not like that. I mean you might need to come down a little. You’re in the bath, but you might as well be standing at attention.” Charon looked sharply up at him, and Yves kept his gaze demurely downcast as he slipped into the bath. “Let me wash your hair?”

It would probably be easier if he were a dominant. All he’d have to do would be to order people around instead of beg for it—but begging had its own benefits. Yves moved behind Charon and sank his fingers into his hair, which was thick, dark, and curled in the heat.

“Are you visiting Gerakia when you leave?” he asked. “Does that mean you’re going to see one of their colleges?”

Charon twisted his head slightly to look at him. “One or two.”

“Which one?”

Yves kept Charon talking as he gently massaged the smell of smoke out of his hair.

He kept his voice low, and when he’d moved from Charon’s hair to his back, Charon didn’t brush him aside.

Yves even made him smile with a joke about Kallistoi artisan guilds, and without meaning to, Yves found himself kneeling over Charon’s lap before they were done with the tea.

They were seated on a low bench at the waterline, but the air was too full of steam for Yves to feel a chill.

Charon had a tattoo over his chest, a symmetrical series of branches with stylized moths in the place of leaves.

Yves traced the wings of a moth with his fingers, and Charon took a short, sharp breath.

It wouldn’t have been noticeable if they weren’t so close, but Yves could feel it as though he’d done it himself.

“We should go to bed,” Yves said. He felt Charon’s hands at his waist, feather-light, and in the secure, heady warmth of the baths, being loved didn’t feel quite so impossible.

“You’re getting married soon,” Charon said, but he was looking at Yves’ chest with a heat that made Yves shudder pleasantly.

“Not yet.” Yves glanced up at him and down again, a clear sign from any submissive. “It doesn’t have to mean anything. It’s just me, Charon.”

But it did mean something. Maybe Charon had his reasons, but Yves couldn’t deny it.

“You’re not just Yves,” Charon said.

“And you’re not just what you were in the cells tonight.” Yves placed his hands on Charon’s thighs and parted them. He sank to his knees in the bath in front of Charon and kissed his inner thigh. “Everyone thinks you want to give it rough. But you should treat me the way you really want to.”

Charon reached down and stroked Yves’ temple.

He twined his fingers in Yves’ hair, softly, carefully.

Yves took Charon’s cock in his hands, and Charon let out a barely perceptible sigh.

His muscular thighs framed Yves’ shoulders perfectly, and when he guided Yves’ mouth to his cock, it was with the light touch of a dom who knew his submissive would anticipate what he wanted.

He trusted Yves to behave, and that did more for Yves than any frustrated spanking or half-hearted punishment.

It stood to reason that Charon’s cock was as thick as the rest of him, but Yves was nothing if not determined.

He glanced up at Charon as his lips stretched around Charon’s girth, and was rewarded with a satisfying tug on his curls.

He took it all at once, with none of the contrived, sloppy gagging many of his clients liked, but with an ease that made him feel more than a touch conceited.

He knew Charon could tell he was proud of himself, because Charon cracked the faintest smile.

Yves would have smiled back if his mouth weren’t full.

He drew back almost to the head, then down again, delighting in the way Charon’s cock brushed the back of his throat.

Breathing was a necessity for lesser men.

Yves worked himself over Charon’s cock, gently cupping his balls with one hand as Charon boxed him in with his thighs.

When he finally pulled up for air, Charon held his mouth open with his thumbs, forcing him to sit there and pant.

“Breathe,” Charon ordered.

“Do I have to?” Yves tried to ask, but Charon’s thumbs were in the way. Charon tapped Yves on the cheek and held him there a few seconds longer. Yves squirmed, eager to get back onto Charon’s cock.

When Charon finally let go, Yves took him down all at once again.

He held himself there, his nose pressed to the curly black hair at the base, and tried to look up at Charon as though daring to pull him off.

He worked his throat and tongue to massage Charon’s cock, and Charon’s legs closed tighter around his shoulders to hold him in place.

You may think you’re proving a point, Yves thought, but I’ll black out on cock if I have to.

“I know that look,” Charon said, and took Yves’ face with both hands.

He ground into Yves’ mouth, somehow managing to fit himself deeper still, and Yves felt his throat flutter and seize.

Charon moved him halfway up his length, then down again, not giving him enough room to catch his breath.

Yves moaned and wriggled in the water beneath him, and he reached down to stroke himself.

He lasted a few more seconds before he had to draw back with a gasp. Charon hooked his mouth open with one hand to keep him in place, and Yves shot him a dirty look.

“Stay,” Charon ordered. He pressed the tip of his cock to Yves’ lower lip, and Yves whined plaintively. “Keep your mouth open.”

Yves stroked himself faster, failing to stay still as Charon took his own length in hand. “I can do that,” he tried to say, but with Charon’s thumb parting his teeth, it came out in an unintelligible moan.

“No. You’ll stay.” Charon was flush with heat, his eyes dark and wide, his black hair hanging over his face. “You’ll be good for me, won’t you? You know how.”

Yves tried to lurch forward to take Charon into his mouth, and Charon pulled him back.

“Be good, Yves,” Charon said. The way he said Yves’ name sent a ripple of pleasure down his back. Charon came into Yves’ mouth as he held him there, coating his tongue, and Yves closed his eyes and rocked his hips forward. “Don’t swallow until you’ve come.”

Yves kept his eyes closed as he stroked himself through it, mouth open, enthralled with with the taste of Charon.

Charon removed his thumb and tilted Yves’ head by his throat.

Just that touch was enough to tip Yves over the edge, and he swallowed heavily as he came, caught between Charon’s legs with his hand on Yves’ throat.

When he looked up again, Charon was looking down at him almost fondly.

“There,” he said. “You do know how to be good.”

“I’m always good,” Yves said, and for the first time in that terrible, chaotic night, Charon laughed.

Yves slept on Charon’s couch. They stayed up with the cookie tin open between them and read books in silence just as they had a thousand times before, as though what had happened in the baths—or the cells, or the House of Silver—hadn’t disrupted a perfectly ordinary evening.

And that was fine. Yves had said that it didn’t need to mean anything.

But they weren’t acting as though it hadn’t happened; they were acting as though it were just a part of their usual routine, like slipping into a robe.

That was far more dangerous. Discomfort and avoidance meant Yves could file it away as a favor between friends.

This felt like Yves’ feelings for Charon were bleeding into everything, muddling his plans.

He woke in the early morning to the sound of Charon sitting up in bed, and he turned around to look up at him. Moonlight slid along the edges of Charon’s jaw and glinted in his eyes. For a second, it seemed like Charon was looking at him, but then he turned aside.

“You’re thinking about that boy, aren’t you?” Yves asked. He kept his voice quiet, unwilling to break the stillness of the moment.

“No.” Charon’s voice was just as soft. “Someone like him.”

Yves didn’t dare move. He felt like if he did, the uncertain balance of the quiet room would tip over, and Charon wouldn’t speak again.

“He thought he was in love, but when all you know is pain, any comfort feels like love. It’s the first thing they teach you.

” Charon’s voice was low, but Yves caught the pain he couldn’t quite hide.

“Half of them fall in love with you when you’re the one bandaging their wounds.

But he didn’t know that it was happening to him, as well. He was too young to see it.”

Yves stared at Charon. He’d turned his head from the moonlight, and his shoulders were hunched as though he were trying to sink into his own shadow.

“Charon,” Yves said, “I?—”

“His name was Nikos,” Charon said.

Yves sat up carefully. He moved across the room and climbed onto Charon’s bed.

His feet slid on the soft sheets, and he braced himself on Charon’s arm for balance.

His hand slid over the tattoo of the hawk with a flaming branch—a bird that spread wildfires, chasing out prey and devastating the land in its wake.

It was a predator clever enough to hunt, but too thoughtless to consider the consequences.

Yves covered the tattoo with his palm.

“Nikos is a nice name. I bet I would have liked him.”

“You wouldn’t have,” Charon said.

“Oh, Charon.” Yves smiled and rubbed his arm. “You know better than to tell me what to do.”