Chunk 16
Less tonight than last night. At least I finished Chapter Six and got a good start on Chapter Seven. Enjoy. :)



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Luka made a startled exclamation into Arden's mouth, then let go of his arm and reached up to grip his hair hard before attacking back.

They grappled for dominance, with a little less violence but a lot more passion.

So far as Arden was thinking at all, he was sure he'd win that battle. They were matched fairly evenly when it came to brawling but on this particular battlefield, Arden was sure he was the leader in experience, by several orders of magnitude. The Ruvori were moralizing prigs who stoned, strangled or drowned men who lay with other men. Luka's desires obviously leaned in that direction, but any actual experience he'd had would have been fast, furtive, and weighed down with shame, and likely engaged in with another man just as hesitant and just as inexperienced.

Arden, on the other hand, had been exploring men's bodies and learning how to give and take pleasure from someone who was made the same way he was ever since his cock first stiffened.

What he hadn't considered, though, was the possibility that he simply wanted Luka more than Luka wanted him, and what that would do to the power balance.

Or maybe he'd just underestimated Luka's experience. That was always possible too.

What happened was that Luka took control, shoved a knee between Arden's thighs and a hand between his cheeks, while fucking his mouth with a tongue that felt like it was sucking out Arden's brain. Some unknowable number of heartbeats later Arden was spasming against Luka's body and moaning into his mouth while making a hot, sticky mess in his trousers.

Arden went limp against the floor, panting hard. He squeezed his eyes closed and imagined Luka grinning down at him while rubbing himself and unfastening his own trousers in preparation for taking his turn at pleasure. Arden knew it was just a phantom in his mind, though, and sure enough the next thing he felt was an abrupt wave of chill over his sweat-dampened skin.

He looked up and saw Luka stalking over to a corner, where he leaned both hands against the wall and rested his forehead on the hewn granite.

The tension was obvious in the curve of Luka's spine. The muscles were deeply shadowed in the flicker of candlelight, and shifted slowly in and out with long breaths.

Arden wasn't in the habit of leaving a partner wanting. It was rude, for one thing, and for another it was unlikely to get him a repeat encounter. He found enough energy to haul himself to his feet and walk over behind Luka.

He laid a hand on Luka's shoulder but Luka spun around and smacked it off.

A hateful stare bored into Arden's eyes and Luka spat, "Don't touch me! If you want another go then find yourself a whore!"

Arden took a quick step back, then stopped. A rush of sympathy and fondness filled him, and he said gently, "Not me. For you."

Luka just stared at him with a confused scowl. Arden decided to just show him.

He went down to one knee and nuzzled the stiff bulge in Luka's trousers. He heard Luka suck in a sharp breath, but the other man didn't move and Arden took that as approval, or at least aquiescence.

The cord at Luka's waist loosened easily and Arden slid the cloth down over the swollen cock. When he let go, the loose pants dropped to the floor. He leaned in once more and licked the head just peeking out of its sheath, then slid his tongue down the shaft, inhaling Luka's musky scent.

Luka's hips twitched and his shaft swelled to its full extent, brushing Arden's cheek. He cupped Luka's balls with one hand, leaned in and kissed them both, then brushed a row of kisses back up his cock to the tip.

"Roscha...." Luka's voice moaned out, long and low, and his hands twined in Arden's curls. Arden smiled and took the head of Luka's cock into his mouth with a hard suck. Luka's voice soared up in pitch, as though he were singing Arden's name. Well, his assumed name. The one he'd used for some weeks. Close enough.

Arden let his lips slide down farther and take in more of Luka's cock. He sucked in short pulses, first in an even rhythm and then randomly. He spider-walked his hand behind Luka's balls to the spot just before his entrance, then rubbed there with two knuckles.

Luka's hips jerked hard and his hands clenched around two fistfulls of Arden's hair. One more long, hard suck and Luka climaxed into Arden's mouth.

The strong taste and familiar feel was enough to get Arden's cock feeling interested once more, but he pushed the thought aside. Once this was done, he doubted Luka would be up for anything more. Arden had no problem admitting out loud that Luka was a strong, handsome man, and one he desired. Luka would need to think about it, and likely agonize for a while, before coming to the same conclusion about Arden. Or even Roscha.

Maybe particularly Roscha.



Chapter Seven

Luka awoke next to Roscha the next morning and immediately rolled off the bed. He pulled his clothes on as quickly and silently as he could, then slipped out the door and went in search of bread and beer; that sounded like the proper sort of thing for a slave to do for his master, and it gave Luka an excuse to be as far away from Roscha as he could practically get, at least for a while.

One of the black-tunicked brothers was laying small rounds of warm bread on the hearth in the common room. The bread was soft and fresh, not just old rocklike loaves warmed over coals; the dough must've been prepared the night before, and the bakehouse fired up well before dawn. Luka approved.

He grabbed one of the rounds and sat on one of the long benches to eat it. A good slave wouldn't disturb his master while he was sleeping, right? He'd been given no orders about when Roscha wanted to leave, so waking him early would be wrong.

That piece of logic completed, he leaned against the rough plank table and took another bite of his bread.

He didn't really want to think about the previous night, but he had no idea what had happened. Or rather, he did what had happened, in the sense of what, but he was completely confused as to why it'd happened or what it meant.

Roscha grabbing him and kissing him and rubbing off on him for his own pleasure -- that made sense. He'd expected that and more the whole time they'd been travelling. The only thing surprising there was that he hadn't been fucked again yet.

But the other -- that made no sense at all, and Luka had come to realize that things he didn't understand could get him into trouble, even get him killed from what Roscha had said and Luka believed him.

So why? Why bother? Why go down on his knees to Luka, to his slave, and pleasure him with his mouth like a whore or a woman or a twink? That was a position of weakness, of shame if anyone saw him. It was something one did only if one had to, if the other was stronger or more forceful or perhaps as a promised trade, for reciprocation later or in exchange for fucking the other man or something, but not for nothing. The one who knelt, whether to suck or be fucked, was the twink, the girl-man, and no one took that role willingly or happily.

Except Roscha had. He'd had no reason at all to do it. He'd already had his own pleasure, and as Luka's master -- his owner -- he could do whatever he wanted, including killing Luka with his own hands or ordering another to do it and no one would stop him or even comment. Roscha had all the power, so why?

It had to be some sort of trick. Some play to get Luka's guard down, to get his sympathy or gratitude. He'd been shouting about wanting Luka to behave like a proper slave and then suddenly they were kissing; it had to be a strategy to get Luka to bend to him. Maybe he thought that if he could seduce Luka -- literally! -- he'd be easier to manage and command, like a woman bending to her lover's will after some sweet talk and gifts.

Except Roscha had taken the woman's part so once again it made no sense.

There had to be something behind it but Luka had no idea what it might be. There was something he wasn't seeing, wasn't getting, and that made him nervous and angry both. He felt like Roscha was making a fool of him somehow, just because he couldn't think of any other explanation.

Except that wasn't an explanation, it was just an assumption because nothing else fit.

Fuck.

Luka finished his bread and went back to get another one for Roscha. He picked up a clay vessel from a table near the beer vat and dipped it full. When he turned to go back to their room with Roscha's breakfast, though, he saw the man himself -- his master -- walking toward him.

Roscha grinned at him and took the beer, slugged down about half of it in a dozen quick swallows, then handed the vessel back to Luka. He took the bread and said, "We need to leave soon, so eat all you want now," before biting into the round.

Luka moved away back to the bench and sat. The bread had filled him well enough; last night's plate had been piled high with roasted hen and carrots and greens and more bread and he'd polished it clean. By the time he was done with the bear, Roscha had finished his bread. He commanded the brother by the hearth to see that their things were taken out and their horses tacked and loaded, then gestured for Luka to follow him.

Roscha led the way outside and across the yard, to Dereno's temple. The building was squat and stolid, heavy with carved stone and ponderous satisfaction. Inside, more carvings high on the walls near the ceiling showed miners extracting ore, smelters processing it into metal in huge, mounded ovens, and smiths working the metal into tools and weapons and jewelry. Below those carvings, the walls were painted with scenes of commerce, trade and wealth and comfort. A larger figure which was probably meant to be Dereno himself distributed wealth from his hands to smaller people gathered around him.

There was no explanation in the pictures as to why he gave so much more to the rich and noble, but Luka wasn't really surprised.

Roscha fished around in his purse and pressed six silver coins -- Molani lunars -- into Luka's hand. He leaned over and whispered, "You give five of them to Dereno, in the ore bucket there." He pointed to an elaborately worked silver bucket the size of the beer vat in the hostel. It was trimmed with gold filigree and set with rough-cut gems in a way no ore bucket ever had been.

Luka stepped up to the bucket, to one side of the altar, and tossed five of the coins in, one at a time. They clinked on what was obviously a heap of similar coins, although the bucket was set too high for Luka to actually see inside. He looked back at Roscha, who tugged him to the front of the altar, on the center of the wall, beside the bucket, and the knelt. Luka copied him.

Roscha murmured a prayer to Dereno, offering praise for his generosity and asking his blessing on their mission. Luka's attention wandered and he looked around the room some more.

The was a doorway to one side which doubtless led to the inner sanctuary, where only the priests would go and where the private, more sacred altar would be. The outer room, as with every temple Luka had ever visited, was open to anyone who cared to come in and pray and hopefully make a gift to the god, which would be spent by the god's priests, who were always eager to be helpful to their holy patron.

That early in the morning there was only one other person present, a brother in a black tunic with white trim. He was sweeping the floor and had a polishing cloth tucked into his belt. The brother was a youngish man, a few years short of Luka's age so far as he could tell, and seemed completely absorbed in his task, or perhaps still half asleep, until he suddenly stopped and straightened.

Luka could see every muscle in the young man's body go stiff, then he dropped his broom and turned. He glowed; every exposed span of skin shone with light but without glaring. Luka could see him with perfect clarity but at the same time the light filled his eyes.

The glowing brother stared hard at Luka, then his face took on a look of outrage and he stalked toward the altar, drawing a silver-headed hammer with one hand.

Shit!

Luka smacked Roscha on the shoulder with one hand, then got a grip and dragged him away, ignoring his protests at his interrupted prayer.

"Never mind that, look! What do we do?" Luka waved toward the brother and his raised hammer. Roscha wouldn't be executed for fighting back -- or would he, in the brother's own temple? -- but would it do any good when the man was obviously god-taken?

Roscha swore and called, "Dereno, help us!" Luka wasn't sure if it was just more swearing or an actual request, but either way he echoed it.

The brother swung his hammer at Luka, who ducked. Roscha grabbed the man's arm, but a quick shake tossed a good four lengths away. The hammer swung again and Luka dove to one side, then did a quick roll back onto his feet.

Laws or no, fighting back didn't seem terribly effective. After the previous night, he knew exactly how strong Roscha was and the brother had tossed him aside like a troublesome puppy.

Luka dodged and ducked and managed to avoid being hit by that hammer, but he knew he'd tire eventually and he suspected the brother wouldn't. Roscha got up behind the man and tried to pin his arms, but the brother shook him off balance, then did a quick forward bend and threw him to the floor. Luka saw Roscha's eyes glaze over and he went limp for a moment.

Just as Luka was trying to decide whether simply running out of the temple and as far away as he could get would be of any use, another glowing figure strode in through the front door he'd been eyeing as an exit. The man was tall and strong, with grey-streaked hair and the hugely muscled arms and shoulders of a miner or a smith. He wore a leather smith's apron and carried a hammer as long as his arm, with a head to it the size of a boot.

"Not in my house!" he bellowed. His voice was deep and resonant and filled the whole world with anger. "Out! Now! And leave my people alone or you'll find out what it is to be my enemy!"

The brother sneered at the newcomer and retorted, "You're my enemy already, you grimy fool." His own voice was slightly higher but just as carrying and rich.

"Out!" Rage shook the stone building and the second man swung his huge hammer. It passed straight through the younger man and didn't appear to do any damage, but its target stiffened, lost his glow, and collapsed to the floor, just a man again.