Welcome to Wednesday Briefs, where authors post free fiction of 1000 words or less. I took a little hiatus to finish a book, but… I’m back! This new story is SF and M/M.
This week's prompts were: "Don't move until I tell you." or "Your underwear is showing..." or "You're treading a fine line here..." or use: cart, prick, T-shirt or have a guest Frenchman in your story or have a hole in the ground or "wine, women and song" or use a man with a brand new goatee or discuss either Mad Men or Royal Pains in your story or use the big bang theory. Or I could use one of the picture prompts.
I chose a picture prompt and… this is what I came up with. Enjoy!
The high walls of the Kumbh’Bhesarim fluttered with red silk to welcome the Queen’s Voice. The kumbh’s several hundred humans had worked far into the night to prepare for the day about to dawn.
Willem darted across a stone yard and entered the men’s bath house. Weak light from a single aperture in the roof revealed a pale figure standing at the base of the cleaning wall. Water spilled into the room from the aqueduct that also supplied the kumbh with drinking water. Willem’s heart pounded as he recognized Torrey. He’d come! The guard on the High House must have been light. Willem ran the length of the chamber, tossing his tunic onto a stone bench before he dashed into the shallow containment pool.
“You’re here,” Willem murmured. He embraced Torrey’s naked body and pulled him close. The waterfall sluiced over their bare skin, its coolness bracing in the morning chill.
“I snuck out, climbed down the dragonweed—”
Willem didn’t give Torrey a chance to say more. The mere fact of Torrey was all the explanation he needed. He seized the other man’s perfect lips with his, tasting Torrey’s heat, the yielding mouth that opened to welcome him with a fevered moan. So much beauty in one man, one body… all hot supple muscle and silken skin. Willem glided one hand up Torrey’s neck, into his dark brown hair. When an answering caress skimmed his ribs, he inhaled sharply. Not the nipples, please not the nipples. He didn’t think he could last another moment if Torrey did that. Already his cock had filled so completely it rubbed along Torrey’s stiff answer to his need.
“I want you so much.” Willem sucked at Torrey’s hungry mouth. He worked his hands over Torrey’s hot, grinding ass. “I need you. Right now.”
Torrey gave a ragged moan and buried his face in Willem’s shoulder. “Then do it, Will. Please. Don’t make me wait. I’m ready.”
Willem turned Torrey so they both faced the wall. His fingers drifted over Torrey’s buttocks and down the beautiful valley until he encountered Torrey’s hole. A moan of pleasure greeted him. Torrey had prepared himself, if the ease with which Willem’s finger entered him was any sign. Maybe he’d even used muhra oil, though Willem hoped he hadn’t. He wanted every whimper and groan to be because of him alone.
It took Willem only a moment to line his cock up and push into Torrey’s body. So hot. So tight and sweet and… he sank in slowly, as slowly as he could, enjoying Torrey’s gasps, the way the young man’s ass pushed back. Impaling himself. Willem wrapped an arm around his partner’s waist and held him for one last thrust, burying himself to the hilt.
“Damn, I love your cock,” Torrey said. He was panting with more pleasure than pain.
“What you love is feeling me inside you.”
All either of them heard next were Torrey’s soft groans, Willem’s grunts, and the slap of hard young flesh hitting flesh. Willem reached under and grabbed Torrey’s rigid shaft, pumping in rhythm to his thrusts. Their hunger was too heated, too long thwarted, for either man to last long. The pleasure of a thousand queens followed until with shudders and sighs they both sagged against the wet, cold wall and leaned there, panting as the water spilled over and between them. Willem stayed inside Torrey, loving the firm grip and squeeze on his cock as he slowly retreated. When he could stay in no longer, when their breathing had slowed and their muscles ached, he pulled out.
“I don’t know which I miss more,” Torrey said, his voice rough with feeling, “you—or that.” Water ran over smiling face and hair, giving him the look of some Olterran god of mischief.
“I knew I wasn’t mistaken about that little hand signal you gave.”
“I don’t think I was supposed to see you. The Kumbhara told me she’d traded you to the Lohakarim for one of their sons.”
“And I told her I would disgrace the Bhesarim by pissing on their Kumbhara’s carpet.”
They washed away the remnants of their passion with cold water and left the pool. Torrey had brought two lengths of drying cloth and tossed one to him. Willem put on his plain work day tunic, holding his tongue when he saw the red garment Torrey donned. He damned the Queen’s Chosen for having died young.
When they left the bathhouse, dawn had just begun to brighten the sky beyond the walls.
“Race to the roof?” Torrey suggested. Willem could never say no to the challenge in that grin.
They took the stone steps two and three at a time, Willem emerging at the top only one step ahead of his rival.
“Done! I win again!”
“You wouldn’t have, if I’d dared scrape by you.”
Willem laughed. While Torrey wore red, shoving or any other rough play was forbidden. A candidate for being chosen by a queen must not be marred or blemished in any way.
They settled onto the flat roof beside several brightly colored carpets. Sunrise gilded the kumbh’s parapets, peeking through crenellations to create lacy shadows. Even the nom was beautiful. Sunfire blazed upon the towers and battlements of mighty Pesht, at the feet of which all the kumbhs of humans huddled in abject obedience.
Pesht was where the nomari rulers dwelled.
“You’re too old to be chosen,” Willem said. “Queens never choose men of age to sport a beard. You’re safe tonight.” And tomorrow Torrey wouldn’t have to wear the red tunic, not ever again.
“No man is ever safe, not really. What a queen wants, she will take. Our alliance with Cyrrhi is this kumbh’s most important asset. She can have any of us, for that.”
A human tribute, in return for protection from other queens. Willem frowned at the nom. How many queens resided there? Forty, he’d heard. Forty queens. One Queen.
And several hundred thousand warriors.
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