Page 37 of The Sorcerer's Alpha
The steppe stretched around them, limitless. Sycamore missed the forested slopes around Banuri, filled with singing birds and shade, but he had taken a liking to the stark beauty of this landscape and the boundless blue sky above. They crossed a range of rocky hills that reminded Sycamore uncomfortably of the badlands, then descended into a vast, flat depression, entirely featureless aside from a few scattered herds of gazelle and deer. Marut checked his compass from time to time to make sure they were keeping their bearing, because no landmarks appeared on the horizon to offer an orientation.
Finally, late in the afternoon, another range of hills appeared in the distance, and they made camp on the last flat ground before the ridge. They had exchanged no conversation during the day aside from practicalities about food and resting the horses, and Marut said nothing now as they went through their preparations for the night. But his eyes were heavy on Sycamore as they ate beside the fire, until Sycamore could bear the silent scrutiny no longer and said, “Say what it is that’s on your mind.”
“Forgive me,” Marut said, dropping his gaze to his lap. Sycamore bit back a sarcastic reply and dedicated himself to his meal.
He hung back to let Marut go into the tent ahead of him when it was time to retire for the night. Inside, he waited for Marut to remove his coat and lie down in the blankets, and then removed his own coat and his trousers. Naked, he lay beside Marut and pressed himself close, leaving no ambiguity about what he had in mind.
He had expended so much effort to suppress and ignore his desire, which seemed foolish now. After only a month out in the wilderness, Banuri was a dream from long ago. He could hardly remember who he had been in the comfort and safety of the palace. He felt as wild as Marut, or as the gazelles they had seen earlier that day, their heads raised watchfully as the horses passed, poised to flee. He couldn’t have what he wanted, but he was having trouble remembering why.
Marut heaved a great sigh. “Sycamore—”
“You’re infuriating,” Sycamore said. “I know that I want things I shouldn’t. But it seems to me that you want those same things, only you won’t say anything about it at all. You kiss my hand and then pretend for days that you did nothing.”
Marut let out a slow exhalation. “It’s true that my thoughts about you are not pure.”
Blood rushed to Sycamore’s head. His temples throbbed as his heart began to race. Although he had been somewhat sure of the outcome when he decided to force the issue, he was still thunderstruck to hear Marut confess his attraction so readily, with none of the prodding Sycamore had anticipated.
Beneath the blankets, Marut’s hand crept to wrap around Sycamore’s wrist, his thumb dipping down to stroke over Sycamore’s palm just where he had touched his mouth. “I know you wouldn’t have—chosen me, under any other circumstances, but—”
“How can you say that?” Sycamore moved his own hand to grip Marut’s wrist in turn, tightly to mask how he was trembling. “I’ve wanted you since the day I met you. The way you smelled, standing there outside my door—and then you were so gentle with Rhododendron, and called hersweetheartin that voice, and I imagined what it would feel like to have you murmur that word into my own ear.”
“Jealous of a horse,” Marut said in a low voice, and he sounded pleased.
“You’ll ruin me,” Sycamore said. “I know you now, and know you to be careful and honorable, and I trust you without question. Those are bad things, to be clear.”
Marut’s hand moved to Sycamore’s hip and slid up his body toward his chest in a hot glide. “No one is here to see what we do with each other. You aren’t in heat now. What’s the danger?”
His words reflected Sycamore’s own thoughts so closely that they seemed like permission. Curled together with Marut in the warm bedding, Sycamore’s concerns were easy to set aside. He turned toward Marut and ran his hands over Marut’s shoulders, then dragged his fingers downward through the thick hair on Marut’s chest. “Marut,” he whispered. What was the danger? The smell of Marut, the closeness of him, made Sycamore forget there was any danger anywhere in the world. He bent his head and pressed his mouth to the cap of Marut’s shoulder.
Marut groaned and dragged him close and kissed him, crushing their mouths together. Had Sycamore ever allowed himself to imagine Marut kissing him, he might have thought that Marut would kiss him cautiously, gently; that he would approach Sycamore as he would an unfamiliar horse, hand extended in greeting. He would have been wrong. Marut held Sycamore’s face in both hands and kissed him deeply and without hesitation, his tongue sliding over Sycamore’s lower lip and pressing into his mouth.
Maybe that was no surprise after how Marut had held his hand down the night before and made him come untouched. Sycamore shivered to think of it and pressed closer. He was no virgin to cling and whimper, but he felt blissfully overwhelmed by Marut’s hungry kisses, his hands moving now to grip Sycamore’s back and hips, urgent as though Sycamore might disappear. But it wasn’t good to let a man think you would roll over for him without complaint, so he pushed Marut onto his back and climbed on top.
Marut started laughing. “Is that so?”
That wasn’t the reaction Sycamore had expected. He sat up and squinted in Marut’s general direction, wishing he could see Marut’s face. “I’m glad I’ve managed to amuse you.”
“Oh, come here,” Marut said, drawing him down and kissing him again, less heated this time, to Sycamore’s disappointment. His lips pressed against Sycamore’s cheek and his ear. “I thought about this,” he said, “every night after your heat ended. Lying there beside you, wondering what you would say if I reached over and touched you. I thought maybe you would turn me into a bug, or call lightning from the sky and smite me.”
“I’ve never smitten,” Sycamore said, hoping to make Marut laughed, and was thrilled when it worked. Marut tucked his face into the crook of Sycamore’s neck and held him close. Sycamore basked for a moment in the cradle of Marut’s arms, then said, “I would have been glad for you to touch me. At any time. I’m glad now. Marut, we’re so far from Banuri. We have months yet to go and a treacherous journey through the mountains before we have any hope of returning home. You’re too tempting for me to resist all that time, and I’ll be a husk of a man if I have to exert so much energy denying myself of your charms.”
“My charms,” Marut repeated, and the smile in his voice made Sycamore find his mouth again in the darkness for a kiss.
When they broke apart, Sycamore said, “We’ll keep each other warm through this winter, and worry about what comes after when it’s after.”
“All right,” Marut said. His hand slid down Sycamore’s spine but stopped too soon. “Let’s sleep now.”
“Sleep?” Sycamore said, now actively dismayed. “You tell me you have impure thoughts about me and now you want tosleep?”
Marut laughed again. “I want to have you in the morning when I can watch your face. Sleep with me.”
“All right,” Sycamore said, mollified, and did.
* * *
Marut did havehim again in the morning, decadently, with Sycamore spread out beneath him making small hiccuping gasps each time Marut drove into him, and his hands clutching at Marut’s shoulders. Near the end, Marut experimentally murmured “Sweetheart” into Sycamore’s ear, and was delighted when Sycamore tightened around him and began to spill.
“That’s cheating,” Sycamore said, after a few minutes of peaceful silence, and Marut had to bury his helpless smile in Sycamore’s shoulder.