Elf Defence (Adventures in Aguillon #2) - Lisa Henry Page 0,21
and complained, “Stop looking at it and hurry up, I'm getting cold.”
“I’m getting there! And anyway, it’s not like I can blow you underwater. I can’t hold my breath that long!”
“You could try, if you weren’t a coward,” Benji muttered. Calarian shut him up by wrapping his mouth around his dick and sliding his tongue over the head while tugging gently at Benji’s balls in the way he knew Benji liked. He was rewarded with a choked-off gasp, and a, “Fuck me, that’s good.”
He popped off long enough to say, “Can’t fuck you, unless you want to use soap, but maybe later?” and then he went back to what he was doing.
Benji groaned, his fingers twisting in Calarian’s hair and tugging. Calarian grinned around Benji’s dick at the familiar and welcome sting. He did love watching Benji fall apart at his touch, making his smug expression disappear for just a few minutes. Calarian let Benji guide his head and fuck into his mouth more deeply. He used every trick he knew with his tongue to get Benji off, and it wasn’t long before Benji’s grip tightened and he came down Calarian’s throat with a muttered, “Fuck.”
Calarian swallowed, sat back, and then wiped his mouth. “Now help me wash my hair.”
Benji grumbled, but slid back into the tub to assist. It was only after he’d massaged Calarian’s scalp thoroughly and rinsed the bubbles away that he grinned and said, “You just washed your hair in sex-water.”
Calarian shrugged, too relaxed to care. “Better than troll gunk.” He stood, making sure to splash Benji just because he could, and wrapped himself in a towel. “You coming?”
“I already did,” Benji said with a smirk, “but I definitely could again. Slippery friar?”
“Ooooh, yes please!” Calarian held out a hand and Benji promptly pulled him back into the tub, cackling as Calarian thrashed and sputtered. “You’re such a dick!” he grumbled.
Benji shrugged. “You love it.”
He did, Calarian realized, and promptly shoved the thought away with roughly the same force Benji had used on the door. And maybe he didn’t just love Benji’s teasing? Maybe he loved Benji too? Calarian blinked at the crazy thought. No, that didn’t make sense. Elves didn’t do feelings, and Benji definitely wouldn’t appreciate it. Love, unless it was free love, was possessive, and collective anarchists didn’t believe in possessions. Calarian didn’t believe any individual should own someone else’s heart any more than he believed any individual should own the means of production.
“What?” Benji asked, wringing water out of his hair.
“Nothing,” Calarian said. He climbed out of the bath again, dropped his sodden towel on the floor, and stalked naked over to the door. “Are you going to come to bed and fuck some more, or are you going to just sit here and marinate in the sex-water?”
Benji leapt out of the bath and followed him, buck naked.
They only scandalised three maids, two guards, and a small black dog on their way back to Calarian’s room.
Chapter Six
The sun was streaming through the windows when Benji awoke to a hammering on the door. Calarian had somehow ended up sprawled all over him, face buried in Benji’s hair, so Benji shoved him off onto his own side of the bed, and snapped, “What?”
It was obvious from the way the sun was high in the sky that they’d slept late, but then, they’d been up late as well. Benji had had Calarian all to himself for a change, with no stupid attractive blond fake duke around distracting him, and he’d made the most of it, getting in not only a slippery friar but a rutting chimneysweep, before they’d topped the evening off with a nice, relaxing, plain old fuck.
The sunlight was pouring through the windows, making the cabbage roses on the ugly curtains appear even more garish. Benji missed his charcoal house, where everything was black. If not when he got it, then certainly after a day or two.
The door opened, and Gretchen strode inside.
“Shouldn’t you be blacksmithing?” Benji asked, climbing out of bed and searching the floor for a pair of pants.
“Did you kill Lars?” Gretchen asked, narrowing her eyes.
“No,” Benji said. He shimmied into his pants. “Why? Is he dead?”
“He’s missing, and Gunther says he ran off, and I don’t trust Gunther.” Gretchen folded her muscular arms across her magnificent chest, showing off the deep blue tattoos etched into her forearms.
“Well, neither do I,” Benji said, and scratched his bare stomach. “Gunther's a weaselly little shit.” He stared at Gretchen for a moment.