would have quite happily stood there taking in the view except Gunther, who Calarian decided he definitely disliked, said loudly, “Who cares about cows? The problem is the trolls!” Calarian managed to drag his attention back to the matter at hand— namely, dead trolls and crumbling city walls. Strategy, not dick, he reminded himself, even though he knew which one he enjoyed more. He filed away thoughts of Lars, his shorts, and what was in them for later consideration.
He didn’t even know if Lars liked men, let alone elves. He suspected he did though—had seen him staring at Benji’s arse more than once—and why, exactly, did that make Calarian’s gut twist in such a queer way? It’s not like he cared who Benji slept with—as long as it wasn’t Lars, and wasn’t that weird?
Calarian had always taken the collectivist approach to sex—share and share alike—but the very idea of Lars and Benji together made him want to clench his fists, or perhaps stamp his feet, and proclaim mine loudly and repeatedly, and the really disturbing part about it was that he wasn’t even sure which one of them he wanted to claim. Lars was sunshine and happiness and all things good and Calarian wanted to fuck him but also string daisy chains through his golden hair, whereas Benji was an angry little shit, but apparently somewhere along the line Calarian had come to think of Benji as his angry little shit, and he wasn’t quite prepared to give him up, even though he’d never cared before. It was all very confusing.
Houses and Humans was never this difficult to figure out.
Gunther cleared his throat and tapped his foot like a prissy schoolmarm, demanding Calarian’s attention.
Calarian sighed and said, “I think Duke Lars makes an excellent point about the trolls not attacking, and we should definitely clear a path for them. I don’t know where they’re heading, but as long as it's not here that means it’s not our problem, right?” He was rewarded with a grateful look from Lars.
Gunther frowned. “But the Duke doesn’t know that they’ll pass through,” he argued. “He doesn’t understand the finer points of interspecies politics. For all he knows, this might all be a cunning plan to gain access to Tournel.”
Calarian pinched the bridge of his nose before arching an impressive eyebrow and staring Gunther down. “A cunning plan? Carried out by a troll who’s wearing his helmet on his elbow?”
Gunther wilted under his glare, his expression curdling even more than usual, which was saying something. “It still might be a plot,” he muttered.
Lars bit his lip. “I know it’s my first day, but I agree with my advisors.”
Calarian felt a weird thrill at being called Lars’s anything, and promptly ignored it.
“I don’t think this is a plot,” Lars continued. “It’s more of a... series of unfortunate events. Ending in a wall. And if we remove the wall, we remove the problem.”
“People will get trampled,” Gunther warned.
“Not if we mark the path,” Calarian said, eager to support Lars and complete their quest, since Benji seemed to be too busy sulking. His teachers had been right about him. He really didn’t play well with others, and he was currently showing his displeasure by drawing dicks in the dust with a stick, still scowling and muttering to himself. Maybe this was going to be one of those times where getting Benji out of his foul mood was a two-blowjob-job. Not that Calarian really minded—Benji normally gave as good as he got, and then some.
Calarian shrugged, and turned his attention back to the path in front of them. “We build the path, make it a priority. We make sure everyone knows it’s to be kept clear, because there’s always some absolute moron who tries to set up a pretzel cart or a face painting stand as soon as there’s an empty space. We post a guard on the tower to warn us when the next troll is coming so we can clear the way, and then we wait.”
“We?” Gunther sneered. “Does this mean you’re running the duchy along with the duke now?”
“I was using the royal we—or rather, the noble we, not we-we,” Calarian clarified, and then snickered, because he’d just said weewee. He glanced over to see if Benji had heard, but Benji was ignoring him. Calarian deflated a little. Oh well. He consoled himself that he’d tell Benji later, after he’d double-blown him, and they’d laugh about it together.
Gunther glared at him, and Calarian straightened up and