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Stepping inside the tent was a palpable relief. With just one small step, crossing through the tent flaps, the world outside seemed to drop away, the harsh reality dispelled by a fantasy of tentative comfort. Gone was the endless stretch of the camp with rows after rows of tents pitched towards the horizon, the everpresent smell of woodfire and too many men and creatures crammed together, the sounds of lions restlessly pacing as they tried to settle down for an uneasy sleep.
Inside, the warm light of a lamp shone, softening the shadows, spilling warmly over the simple furniture - a low cot with warm furs, a wooden table whereupon maps were still unrolled, waiting to be studied anew, an inornate washstand with an earthenware bowl. The light was kind to the frugal interior, making it appear cosier and far more luxurious than it was, but the most precious thing it illuminated didn’t need further enchantment.
Near the washstand, naked, the long line of his strong body exposed, Anharion stood, gold collar around his neck twinkling in the lamplight in ever failing competition to the golden strands of his hair. Sarcean exhaled softly as his shoulders slumped, tension seeping from his body at the sight of him.
“I was just thinking of coming to get you,” Anharion said dryly, knowing him by some sixth sense only he possessed. Sarcean watched smooth muscles shift as Anarion turned around and leant back against the washstand, a vision of long, lean limbs, packed with the enticing curves of strong muscles. His elegant feet were crossed at the ankles, his hands propped up on the edge of the washstand, all of him on display for Sarcean’s greedy eyes. A smattering of waterdrops glistened on his shoulders, where they had fallen when he’d washed himself and had not been brushed away yet.
“I didn’t mean to keep you waiting,” Sarcean murmured, allowing his eyes to sweep across the expanse of smooth, golden-bathed skin. “I was offered well-wishes, for my quest tomorrow.”
“Ahh,” Anharion breathed, his expression impassive. “Your meeting with the Lady.”
He didn’t add more, didn’t even inflect his voice with meaning, but even so, Sarcean was well aware of Anharion’s thoughts on the matter. They had discussed this before. To Anharion’s frustration, Sarcean’s path was set. He had to meet her.
“You know it must be done.”
“It’s a trap, not a treaty.”
Sarcean couldn’t help the weak smile brought on by Anharion’s clear words. “It’s nothing I haven’t seen from her before.”
Anharion stepped forward, away from the washstand, crossing the space between them, his blue-eyed gaze like the regard of sunlight on a beautiful spring morning. Holding Sarcean’s eyes, he reached for his hands, taking his fingers into his. Sword callouses scratched over Sarcean’s fingers, a familiar, comforting touch.
“I wish you wouldn’t go, but I have fought you enough on this,” Anharion whispered, and Sarcean hated the brief flicker of pain across his features, pain, which he usually masked so well.
“I have no choice. But I promise you, I will come back to you,” Sarcean said, wetting his dry lips.
Anharion’s mouth twitched in a wistful smile. “I know,” he said softly.
“However long it takes.”
With a shuddering sigh, Anharion dropped his forehead against Sarcean’s, his warm breath gently caressing Sarcean’s face. His heart aching, Sarcean leaned into him, his hands coming up to close around Anharion’s muscled back, smoothing across his shoulderblades.
“I hate the thought of being parted from you,” Anharion whispered roughly, rubbing his forehead against Sarcean’s in a caress, a confession.
“I hate to think I couldn’t protect you any longer…” Sarcean answered, his voice equally hushed. His throat felt tight, constricted, his mouth dry. Before his mind’s eye, he saw a familiar vision that had plagued him often in the past, horrific and wrong, of Anharion not himself, following another’s will. “If something happens to me…” He trailed off, feeling Anharion tense against him.
“You made sure nobody can possess me.”
“So I did,” Sarcean agreed, unable to hide the satisfaction the fact brought him. Instinctively, his fingers had slid upwards, under the silk of Anharion’s hair and further, finally tripping over the body warmed metal wrapped around his neck. The land would be cold and dark if you were gone, he thought desperately, briefly closing his eyes to scatter other images, of empty blue eyes, a body slumped to the ground, precious blood spreading and soaking the sand underneath. “If I’m gone, they’ll execute you as a traitor,” he pressed out, voicing his biggest fear.
He felt Anharion pull from his embrace and he opened his eyes to find him staring back at him. His blue eyes shone fiercely, defiantly, but his voice was trembling with emotion. “And I will follow you into death,” Anharion said thickly, “and I will smile, knowing I’ll see you again.”
Sarcean’s chest ached with the promise of Anharion’s words. He slid his fingers higher, through the soft curtain of Anharion’s hair and onto his cheek, where blonde stubble was piercing his otherwise smooth skin.
“Aren’t you afraid?” he asked, staring into Anharion’s unfathomable eyes, awed by the love he saw there. His thumb started a slow caress, along the angular jawline, down to the corner of Anharion’s full lips, where he lingered, pressing against the tempting curve.
Anharion smiled, a soft, sure smile, the motion pulling at Sarcean’s finger. “I know you’ll find me. Even in another life, you’ll find me.”
With a shuddering sigh, Sarcean closed the space between them, taking Anharion’s mouth in a kiss. Familiar, yet exciting, Anharion’s taste invaded his senses, making him weak. For years he had longed to kiss his lips, had dreamed about him, had searched for his likeness in every lover he had taken to bed. He had thought his obsession would wane once he had him, but the opposite proved true: Sarcean’s need for him couldn’t be sated, and his longing remained, a bright flame of want and something purer. Love.
He pulled back with a gasp, found Anharion hazy-eyed and flushed, his lips plump and parted. “We have the night. One night, at the end of the world.”
Swallowing, Anharion’s eyes flickered back down to his lips. “We have the night,” he echoed, breathless.
Sarcean pushed him back and down on the cot of furs, and Anharion went willingly, his hands eager on Sarcean’s body, slipping beneath the leather armour he wore, loosening the buckles with limber fingers. Beneath him, Anharion was heat and beauty made flesh, parting his legs to slot their bodies together as he made short work of Sarcean’s clothes, stripping them one by one, until nothing remained between them.
Anharion’s hand had slid into his hair, to the tie at the back of his head where he kept his hair in a bun, working it free, to spill around them. His mouth surrendered to Sarcean’s kisses, soft and wet inside, and his body arched to fill the spaces between them. Sarcean trailed kisses up Anharion’s neck, over warmed metal and taut skin to behind his ears, strangely delicate and sensitive. His breath echoed loudly in the shell of Anharion’s ear. “I will find you,” he whispered, filled with surety. “I will find you, whenever you are. We will be together again.”
Against him, Anharion trembled, and Sarcean aided him to turn over on the furs, so he could get to the pert globes of his arse and the tight hole he had so much pleasure to use and explore. He guided him up onto all fours, marvelling at the expanse of golden skin and the fall of his slightly wavy hair over one shoulder. Anharion looked back at him, panting in anticipation, his teeth having found his own bottom lip to dig into.
Sarcean parted his cheeks gently, revealing the place where his skin was a shade darker and the entrance to his body lay. Goosebumps rose on Anharion’s skin as Sarcean leaned closer, and he couldn’t keep in his delight, a soft laugh spilling from his lips. He let his breath rush over Anharion’s skin to enhance the involuntary reaction, before he moved in, pressing his mouth against Anharion’s hole in a gentle kiss. A moan rose from Anharion’s lips and he shifted into the touch, and Sarcean smiled against the tight, little furl of him. He explored him with lips and tongue, probing gently as the tight rim gave way to admit him. The body beneath him trembled and another sigh fell from Anharion’s lips, a sound so heartfelt it ignited Sarcean’s passion.
He pulled back and readjusted his grip on Anharion’s buttocks, before he dove in from above, pressing his tongue deep into the spit-slicked muscle he had loosened with his tender ministrations. Anharion’s overwhelmed cry of surprise and pleasure turned to desperate moans as he squirmed, seemingly unsure whether to press back onto Sarcean’s tongue or evade it. The indecision didn’t last - soon he was pushing back wantonly, one arm having shot back to tightly fist into Sarcean’s hair to hold him where he wanted him. Sarcean went about it like a man possessed, eating him out relentlessly, spearing his tongue into the slick muscle until Anharion sobbed and cursed obscenities.
He only let up when Anharion’s legs started to slide out and the desperate grip in his hair loosened. His limbs trembling, Anharion dropped onto the furs, his head twisted as he gasped for air, a strand of hair that was laying over his mouth rhythmically lifted by his accelerated breath. Tenderly, Sarcean reached out to brush the strand from his wet, swollen mouth, admiring the rosy flush on his cheeks.
He reached for the bag lying next to the cot that held his personal belongings, searching through the outer pocket for the small vial of oil he knew was there. While Anharion sucked in breath, he quickly slathered his cock, before tossing the vial aside. With one slick hand, he reached for Anharion again, his thumb sliding through the crack of his arse to find his pucker, loosened now from fucking him open on his tongue.
“Please, I beg you,” Anharion whispered, and he looked back at him with dazed eyes.
“Of course,” Sarcean said, and replaced thumb with cock, after wiping the excess oil between Anharion’s arse cheeks. Sinking into Anharion was like sliding into the most perfect, tempered bath. “You open for me so beautifully, my love,” Sarcean whispered, his eyes flickering between where he was entering his lover to his face, where fair lashes rested low on his red cheeks.
Anharion groaned, low and pleased, then all but howled when Sarcean pushed to his feet over him, raising himself to settle himself more deeply into his arse. “Ahhh,” Anharion whined as Sarcean sank deep once more until his balls were resting against Anharion’s arse cheeks. Like this, it felt like there wasn’t an inch of air between them. Anharion fought him briefly, as if for show, his body twisting on the furs, bucking. Despite his struggle, Sarcean started a slow, shallow rhythm, watching as he trailed his hand up Anharion’s sweat-slicked back. His fingers skimmed the collar, briefly digging underneath it, before he curled his fingers into it, pulling.
With a low growl, Anharion allowed him to lift his head, and he held on, while he started to move in earnest, driving his cock in and out of tight heat, listening to the increasingly breathless moans from Anharion’s lips. He fucked him like he needed to tame a wild animal, with deep, hard strokes, showing his mastery. Anharion shouted until his voice was raw.
Praise fell from Sarcean’s lips, how good, how tight, how perfect for him, how beautiful. For him. For him. Just for him. Beneath him, Anharion became sluggish and docile, the fight having gone out of him as he slipped into mindless pleasure.
Dripping with sweat, Sarcean pulled out and rolled him back over, sliding back into his arms and body. “My king,” Anharion whispered into his ear, his leg slung high on Sarcean’s hip, his arms loosely around his neck.
“You are mine, now and then,” Sarcean said, and lost himself in Anharion’s body once again, pressing kisses into his neck where it wasn’t covered by the collar, his hips ruthless. Beneath him, Anharion shuddered and moved with him, one hand curled into his hair, the other digging gouges into his buttocks. Sarcean watched as he came, his pink, parted lips, head tipped back, a strand of hair falling over his closed eyes, features relaxed in bliss.
When he followed, on the tailend of Anharion’s pleasure, a set of visions came to him. The Lady, her cool blue eyes full of triumph, as he crumbled to the ground. Anharion, proud and defiant, gold collar glinting in the sun, a moment before the executioner brought the sword down. Mussed blonde hair the colour of fine golden thread, bound with a ribbon, blue eyes he would recognise anywhere. His face, sweet with youth, his eyes glazed. Sarcean was holding the collar, the feel of it in his hand full of need. Do it. Put it on me. He was…
“James,” he whispered, the name coming to him from across time. Beneath him, that same face, flushed with pleasure, older, but no less beautiful. “I will always find you.”
The End