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"Have I ever said that you look like a true Witcher?" Coën asks, gently tracing the long scar on his lover's chest with his thumb. It has healed nicely, but seeing it always gives him a shiver of dread. How easily this could have gone wrong. And if it had, Cahir's corps would be rotting away in a lonely grave in Ebbing, and they would never have met.
"Only a dozen times." Cahir grins. With a contented sigh, he then closes his eyes, relishing the warmth of the water and his boyfriend's close proximity. But Coën does not stop at the scar. Slowly, his callused fingers wander further down Cahir's abdomen, across his navel, along the line of dark, curly hair leading to his crotch. Finally they come to rest on the root of his cock. A shiver of anticipation runs through the young knight's body at the touch.
"And have I ever said that I love you?" Coën whispers into his lover's ear while curling his hand around his shaft.
"Only a dozen times," Cahir breathes with a groan.
"That is not enough by far," the dark-skinned Witcher says, tightening his grip around Cahir's growing erection. It making the young knight gasp.
"I love you, Cahir of Vicovaro," he then says and plants a kiss on his lover's lips. "And tonight I'm going to show you exactly how much."
Showering him with more kisses, Coën begins to slowly move his hand along the length of Cahir's cock.
"I love you, too," Cahir breathes, locking eyes with him. They are the last coherent words he can utter before his mind turns to mush and, in between hot kisses, moans of lust are the only sounds that manage to escape his lips.
It is the beginning of a very pleasurable night.