Chapter 7

CHAPTER7

By the time they reached the next closest village—barely more than two streets arranged in a cross—Tristan was exhausted. The filth had seeped into every part of him. Even Opal was subdued, and after a few cursory attempts at conversation, he’d kept quiet.

Tristan couldn’t get the vision of his brother’s burning corpse out of his mind. The way Evan—not Evan, the demon, but it was still Evan because that was what had happened to him!—had screamed for help, for him… He wanted to be sick. It was all he could do not to vomit on the side of the road.

The stench of the swamp clinging to them didn’t help, either.

He needed to stop thinking about all of this. He needed to get it out of his head. He needed…

He needed a fucking drink.

But before that, he needed a bath to try to get rid of some of the filth clinging to both his body and his mind.

The proprietor of the tiny bathhouse looked at them dubiously, but he didn’t turn them away. Tristan was uncharacteristically curt with him, and he was vaguely aware of Opal making excuses for him. But he was so fucking tired, mentally and physically, that he couldn’t bring himself to care.

He trudged to the baths, shedding his armor and the clothing beneath as soon as he was safely inside the steamy room. There were private stalls with small pumps for washing off, and Tristan ignored Opal as he went into one and used the cool water to get rid of all the grime on his body.

His brother had died fighting a monster—a dragon. He’d gone up in flames exactly like this creature. Had Evan screamed and begged for help that never came?

Lost in his thoughts, he cleaned himself of the swamp water the best he could. The rest of it would come off with a proper soak, but at least he wouldn’t instantly make the tub filthy.

Only when he emerged did he glance in the direction of the other stall. Opal had the door closed, and Tristan couldn’t bring himself to call out to him. He wasn’t in the mood for chatter or even company, and he went to the baths proper and slid into the hot water.

It was small in here, only really enough space for four or five adults, but it was deep enough that he was at least able to settle to his chest.

Opal didn’t show up for at least ten minutes, where Tristan could simply stare at the steamy air and try to think of nothing at all even though his thoughts were full of Evan’s death.

His death, and the need to drown it in several fucking drinks.

Tristan didn’t turn around when the door to the baths slid open, and he said nothing as Opal got into the water with him.

“Sorry,” Opal said quietly. “There was a lot of mud in my hair. It took forever to wash it out.”

Tristan grunted. If it had taken Tristan that long to get the mud out of his short hair, he could only imagine how difficult it had been for Opal to get it out of his much longer hair.

He was torn between telling Opal to go away and telling him to get close, unsure of whether he wanted to take comfort from him or be alone to wallow. He knew better than to do the latter, but… It was so hard not to. It would be an easier decision if he’d already hit the tavern.

Opal sidled over so their thighs were touching, and he took one of Tristan’s hands into his own under the water. “And… I’m really sorry about what happened today. I know it was hard.”

Tristan exhaled slowly, and he hesitated for several seconds before squeezing Opal’s hand. He shook his head. “I’m sorry I tried to kill you,” he said gruffly. And he was. But if it had really come down to his brother or Opal, he’d have run Opal through in a second.

He’d have felt bad for it, though.

Tristan didn’t want to be the kind of person who selfishly murdered others, but he’d come so close to doing just that.

He really wasn’t half as noble as Opal thought.

“It’s all right,” Opal said with a soft huff. “Didn’t even bruise.” He massaged Tristan’s hand with his thumb. “I lost the brooch I bought the other day though. Maybe there’ll be a… an eel, sporting a pretty flower brooch and being the most popular eel of the bunch.”

Tristan barely remembered the piece of jewelry. He wished he could smile at the jest, but he couldn’t bring himself to do anything more than grimace. “We almost died,” he mumbled.

“I wouldn’t have allowed you to die.” Opal sighed and rested his head against Tristan’s shoulder. “I’m not going to let anyone hurt you ever, Tristan.”

Before the swamp, Tristan would have laughed about that declaration. He’d thought Opal weak and delicate, but Opal had more than proved that he was capable of holding his own. He hadn’t needed Tristan there.

Tristan felt useless and irrelevant, and he wished he had his wineskin so he could take a big gulp and start to wash away all of those terrible thoughts. He’d already emptied it on the road, though.

“The knights are supposed to save the damsels, not the other way around,” Tristan said wearily. “You don’t even need me.”

“I do need you.” Opal turned his head to kiss Tristan’s shoulder. “Do you want me to blow you?”

“No,” Tristan said, even though he wasn’t sure he didn’t want that. It would be a distraction, and he needed a distraction. Sex would be fleeting bliss, though, not something that would take hours to subside. “You’re a powerful mage, Opal. You shot fire at the demon!” He couldn’t stop thinking about the fire, no matter how hard he tried. That image of the flames lapping at Evan’s—the demon’s—corpse was burned into his mind.

How much pain had Evan been in, before the end? He had suffered from a dragon’s flames, and those had to be even stronger than Opal’s.

Hopefully his brother had been dead before the pain had truly registered.

“I’m not that strong,” Opal murmured. He placed a hand on Tristan’s stomach and traced circles under the water. “A lot of minor mages can send out a few fireballs. But you saw how… violent it is. It’s not something I should use anywhere near living people.”

“It looked plenty strong to me.” Tristan sighed, closing his eyes and trying not to envision that burning flesh all over again. “You never actually needed me. You could’ve used fire on those bandits.” Why did he feel so bitter about not actually being needed?

“But I liked that you stepped in anyway,” Opal answered. His hand traveled a little lower and came to a rest on the inside of Tristan’s thigh. “You are a bold, dashing knight. You saw me and decided to help. I told you, very few people ever bother to help me.”

Tristan shook his head. “I don’t blame them,” he muttered, and he hated himself a little bit for being so fucking useless. Every one of his failures was coming back to haunt him, and he wished so very much he could just drink himself into a stupor.

There would be nightmares, though. He was sure of that much.

Opal looked at him with a hurt expression, but he covered it with a strained smile. “You’re upset.” He gripped Tristan’s cock and gave it a light stroke. “Let me distract you, darling. Sex and sleep will make things better.”

“Yes, I’m upset,” Tristan said, and while he’d expected his voice to sound snappish, it only sounded bleak. “Wouldn’t you be? I wonder if that’s what he felt before he died. Being burned alive, screaming, wishing someone could help, and I—” There was a lump in his throat, and he was sure he was going to be ill. He had to stop thinking about it. He had to find a distraction.

He turned to face Opal, resting his hand on the back of Opal’s neck and urging him closer for a ferocious kiss.

Opal gasped but mercifully didn’t try to fight against it. No, he opened for Tristan, drawing him closer and moaning when Tristan forced his tongue inside his mouth.

Tristan could always let himself go when he kissed Opal. There was just something about him that made him relax, that helped him let go, and it almost produced a buzz like alcohol would.

Almost.

It wasn’t enough. He wanted the mind-numbing bliss of oblivion that a large tankard of strong mead could bring.

But sex would do for now.

He pulled back after a moment, staring at Opal. “I don’t understand you,” he said gruffly. But it didn’t matter. He didn’t give Opal a chance to respond before he was kissing him again, trying to urge Opal to get into his lap to make it easier.

Opal suddenly tensed and braced his hands against Tristan’s chest. “W-wait,” Opal said. “Not… um, not here. Somebody could walk in.”

Tristan blinked at him. He felt a little dazed, and his body told him he didn’t give a fuck if someone walked in. It took him several tries to release Opal, because his cock was so hard, and the pleasant buzz was better than wallowing with his thoughts.

He could get alcohol, though, if he let go.

“You’re right. Go on. You get out first. I need to find a place to have my armor cleaned.”

“Yeah,” Opal said, and he sounded disappointed even though he was the one who’d called a stop to things. “I’ll get us a room at the inn.” He laughed. “Good thing this place is so small, there’s only one.”

Opal pressed another kiss to the side of Tristan’s mouth, then he got out of the water. That was when Tristan realized Opal was wearing a towel around his waist, in some strange sense of modesty that was out of place in a bathhouse. It was soaking wet, which made it even more bizarre. He hadn’t thought Opal would care about such things, with how open and direct he was all the time.

Tristan usually minded, right? Fuck, he must have been really out of it to let his cock lead him like this. He pinched his balls, trying to let the discomfort ease his erection, but it didn’t do much.

Tristan followed him out, going for his extra clothing as he ignored his hard-on. He was relieved to have the clean cloth against his body, but it felt strange not having the leather armor on. He was used to the comfort it lent him, knowing that he was just a touch harder to kill.

He could still be consumed by fire, though.

With a shudder, Tristan turned back to face Opal, who had donned a new shirt and skirt. “I’ll meet you at the inn. I need to find a leatherworker who can clean this.”

Opal pouted, but he didn’t argue. “All right. I’ll see you in a bit. Maybe I can find us a decent meal, too.”

They parted ways, and Tristan found a woman who specialized in leatherworking to clean and mend his armor properly. When she grimaced at the condition of it, he added a few extra coins to the offering.

“I know,” he said before she could say anything. “There was a demon in the swamp.”

Her eyes widened. “The swamp? They’ve been saying nonsense things, like undead coming out of it.” She shuddered. “But it was a demon?”

Tristan nodded curtly, not really wanting to discuss the matter. “Yes. I’ve slain it.”

“Well, thank you,” the woman told him. “I’m happy to clean this for you. It shouldn’t take too long.”

“Thank you,” Tristan said, and even though he felt hollow inside, he forced a smile that probably looked more like a grimace. Still, he’d tried.

He left her there with the armor, finding the inn and searching for Opal.

Opal was at a table near the bar, grinning awkwardly at a large, bearded man who had his arm around Opal’s shoulders. Two plates of food sat on the table, and the bearded man sloshed a large mug of ale around while saying something to Opal.

Tristan cleared his throat when he got close, feeling a surge of hot jealousy race through him. “Excuse me,” he said gruffly, “but that’s my…” Damn it, what the fuck did he call Opal? “My Opal.”

“Tristan!” Opal said, obvious relief on his face. “I got us food. It’s only chicken, I’m sorry. I tried to get beef, but they didn’t have any. But then this, um… man…”

“Yer so pretty,” the man slurred, and even from this distance Tristan could smell the alcohol on his breath. “Nice hair. Like my wife, I told you about—”

“Yep,” Opal interrupted. “You told me about her three times already. She left you and took the kids with her to live in another village.”

Tristan could imagine why, seeing the asshole manhandle Opal like that. “Unhand my partner,” he said, unable to keep the ferocity from his voice then. His cheeks felt hot, and he was sure Opal would take this far too seriously, but he didn’t know how else to get through this without a fight.

A fight he would gladly take up with the drunk if it came down to it, because it would be a welcome distraction from the still lingering memory of the stench of flesh burning—

“Oh, Tristan…” Opal smiled at him. “Thank you.” Then he turned to the drunk. “I am very sorry about your wife, but please consider that she didn’t want to live with somebody who drinks all the time.”

The words hit Tristan hard, and a wave of shame swept over him. Was Opal referring to him, too? No. He didn’t act like that when he drank. He didn’t slur his words and tell everyone his woes. He dismissed the thoughts. He didn’t drink all the time. Just when he needed to. Maybe that was more than others might’ve thought necessary, but even so. He wouldn’t even drink that much now—just enough to make the pain go away.

“And I am not a woman, which I’ve told you multiple times already,” Opal went on. “So unless you want a thick, hard, cock shoved down your throat, unhand me.”

Somehow, everybody else in the tavern went quiet just in time for Opal’s words to ring clearly across the room. Everybody turned to stare at them.

Then somebody burst out laughing. “Fuck, Rob, you want cock? No wonder Marsha left you!”

Rob’s face turned beet red, and he finally let go of Opal to go argue with the heckler.

Tristan wrapped a protective arm around Opal, pulling him close. “Are you always so fucking polite to people who come on to you?” he asked, unable to keep a slight growl from his voice.

“I was trying not to cause a scene!” Opal said, pouting. “You just want to relax, and it wouldn’t be good if somebody ended up dead here.”

Tristan grunted. He didn’t think he’d mind if someone ended up dead here, especially if it was by his hand, but he kept that thought to himself. Staring at Rob, he kissed Opal’s brow then stepped away, pulling out a chair for Opal in a deliberately chivalrous gesture. “Sorry it’s more chicken.”

“It just feels pointless to eat chicken,” Opal muttered. “It’s a bird with barely any meat on it. More than quail, I guess, but if you’re eating quail, you’re probably desperate. But why is nobody serving beef or goat or sheep?”

“Probably because it’s getting closer to winter, and you want to save those for when times are leaner. We’re in a small village, too, so they might not have much livestock to begin with.” He waved down a passing, haggard-looking woman. “A jug of mead or ale, please.” A jug would be good to start with. That would help with the impending nightmares that he didn’t want to think about. “The strongest you have,” he added.

Opal scooted his chair closer to Tristan’s. “Let’s eat quickly so we can get some rest. Or do some slightly less restful, but still very relaxing, activities.” He stroked Tristan’s arm and kissed Tristan’s jaw. “I could give you a nice massage and blow you, or…”

Tristan took in a deep breath, wishing he could focus on what Opal was offering instead of burning bodies and screams. The barmaid set down the jug of ale and a mug, and for a second, he considered just drinking out of the jug. But Opal had sounded so critical of Rob’s drinking, so he filled the mug, for all that he downed half of it in one swallow. “Maybe. I don’t know if…”

He wasn’t sure he could perform, not after all of that, even though he managed to get hard in the baths.

The urge had felt so immediate when he’d been kissing Opal, but now his mood had sunk once more, and he didn’t know what would happen.

“Or we can simply cuddle,” Opal said, though there was a slight hint of disappointment in his voice.

Tristan finished the first mug, then refilled it. Before he could pick the mug up again, though, Opal pulled it closer to himself and sipped delicately at the drink.

“This isn’t as good as what that couple served,” Opal said. “Less sweet.”

“It still tastes fine,” Tristan said, taking it back from Opal with enough insistence that some sloshed over the rim. The taste didn’t matter. He’d drink rotgut if it meant he could obliterate this day from his thoughts.

“When we next hit a big city, I’ll treat you to some real wine,” Opal said carefully. “And we’ll find someplace that serves real meat. Not tiny birds. And…”

“We aren’t going to a city,” Tristan interrupted. “We’re following the compass.” He took another gulp from the mug, then stared down at the chicken. It had been roasted, and it was nearly burnt in some places. He ignored the plate, trying to keep the flash of Evan’s burning flesh from his mind’s eye but finding it was only that much more intense.

“Well, yes, but maybe the compass will point us through a city?” Opal fidgeted with his hands. “And if it doesn’t, well, there’s always after we find the… sword. We’ll get to enjoy a properly romantic meal eventually.”

A romantic meal. The last thing Tristan cared about right then was a fucking romantic meal.

Tristan downed the rest of the ale and refilled the mug, wanting the oblivion that came with the inebriation. It was right there, within his grasp. It took more than most to get him drunk because of his size, but it was manageable.

He just might need another jug of ale.

Opal suddenly draped his arms over Tristan’s shoulders. “Aren’t you hungry? You should eat. Your stomach will thank you. Or if you’re not hungry, we should just go to bed.”

“Let me finish my ale first,” Tristan said, trying to ignore the urge to shrug Opal off his shoulders. It felt like he was trying to deny Tristan what he needed, and it was growing increasingly irritating. He wasn’t as drunk as that Rob fellow had been, and besides… he could still remember that stench. “You eat your food.”

Opal frowned at him. “I’ll eat. But I heard it’s bad to drink on an empty stomach, and we’ve been walking… fighting… all day, and…”

“I’m fine,” Tristan said shortly. “I can hold my ale.” Maybe he should’ve gone drinking that night with the guards instead of spending it with Opal. They never judged him on how much he had to drink. If anything, they made games of it until they were falling down drunk, and weren’t those the best nights?

“If you just need a distraction…” Opal got closer and started rubbing Tristan’s arm. “We can continue what we were doing in the bath. We have a private room upstairs, with their biggest bed…”

Tristan doubted the small inn’s ‘biggest bed’ was very big at all. They’d end up squashed together, forced to cuddle. He’d never really been one to cuddle before all of this, and while it was growing on him… Well, he’d prefer getting drunk over it. Even the promise of sex wasn’t alluring enough to drag him away while he was still far too sober for his liking. “Soon,” he said. “Gods, Opal, let a man have his drink.”

Opal got quiet and nodded. “Okay. Well, at least share some of that, then. Since I’m a man too. Let this man have his drink.” He didn’t wait for Tristan’s permission—or even a second mug—but drank directly from the jug.

Tristan eyed him, unsure of what to think. It was admittedly hard to think of Opal as a hardened man who drank much ale, though apparently Tristan didn’t know much about Opal at all. “All right,” he said. “But get your own mug.”

Opal met his eyes steadily. “It’s fine. This is barely a drop.” Then he leaned closer, so his lips were almost against Tristan’s. “We could share the ale like this, too.”

Tristan didn’t particularly like the idea of sharing, especially when it came to his drink, and he had no idea what Opal meant by “sharing like this.” He watched as Opal took another large gulp from the jug, tensing when Opal pressed his lips against Tristan’s.

At first, he didn’t open his mouth, but Opal reached up and gently rubbed Tristan’s jaw, coaxing him to open up. Once he did, Opal—angled slightly higher, reminding Tristan again that Opal was taller than him—opened his mouth. Warm ale trickled into Tristan’s mouth, and something about the strange intimacy of this gesture, the wrongness of it, had Tristan’s face heating up.

He swallowed the ale, and Opal’s tongue chased it, deepening the kiss. Tristan tried to keep his hands to himself, but his mouth tingled, and he was reminded of that arousal he’d felt in the baths. He grabbed Opal’s shirt to pull him closer, his eyes fluttering closed while he focused on that kiss.

Suddenly there was a wolf-whistle, and a bunch of hooting.

He’d completely forgotten they were in the middle of the tavern.

Tristan pulled away, almost losing some of the ale. He swallowed quickly, feeling the tingle go straight to his cock.

He downed the rest of his mug of ale and stood up. “Let’s go to the room,” he said, though he picked up the jug to take with him. He’d finish it there, where the pleasant buzz might come as something more welcome.

The sex was seeming more and more appealing, too.

Opal took Tristan’s free hand and led them toward the stairs. The other tavern goers laughed and whistled some more, even shouting lewd encouragement. Fuck them. They were just jealous.

As soon as they were in the room, Opal wrapped his arms around Tristan’s shoulders. “How do you want me?” Opal asked, kissing along Tristan’s jaw.

Tristan hesitated, trying to figure out just what he wanted. On one hand, it was still strange to kiss a man, even one as effeminate as Opal. On the other… There was something about Opal’s kisses that he couldn’t get enough of. “Lie down on the bed,” he said, setting the jug of ale down on the nearby table.

Opal nodded, and after another kiss that was over entirely too quickly, he went over to the bed. He took off his shoes, but he didn’t strip the rest of his clothes as he got on the bed, face down. He only pulled the skirts up enough to expose his bare ass. He wiggled that ass a little and smiled over his shoulder. “Like this, darling?”

“No,” Tristan said, his already hot cheeks heating up further. “I want to see your face while I fuck you. Like… like I might a woman’s.”

Opal’s smile slipped a little. “Oh. Um.” He sat up onto his knees, fumbling with his hair a little. His skirt had bunched around his waist, the folds hiding even the hint of an erection. “I kind of like it face down? It just feels… really raw. I mean, facing each other is good too! Very romantic. But I like how deep you can get when I’m on all fours.”

“Oh.” Tristan was oddly disappointed, and it felt like a rejection. “But I want to see you. All of you. I…” Was he pushing too hard? Was he going to have to touch Opal’s cock if he bared it? He wasn’t sure he was ready for that. “All right,” he said, and the confusion made him go back to the jug of ale and swallow more of it down.

Opal watched him and got back into position, spreading his legs and hiking his skirt up. The space between his legs was dark, but if Tristan stared, he’d be able to make out…

No. Tristan set the ale down and stalked over to Opal, gripping his ass harshly. He’d focus on what he knew how to do for now, even though part of him rebelled at it. Well, he wanted to get to the part where he wasn’t thinking of burning flesh anymore, and this was clearly what Opal wanted. He smoothed his hand over Opal’s ass cheek where he’d gripped it, then pinched the other. “Do you like this?” he asked.

“Yes,” Opal answered breathlessly. Unlike Tristan, Opal was so pale that every blush showed on his cheeks. He wiggled his ass and smiled. “You can finger me. If you want. I like that a lot.”

Tristan wasn’t sure how he felt about sticking his finger in someone’s ass. It wasn’t that much different from sticking his dick in Opal’s ass, he supposed, but… It made him hesitate. “I… erm…”

“Or you can just fuck me,” Opal said quickly. “That’s good too. I can handle you easily, you know that. Um, not that you’re small, it’s just that I’ve got a lot of practice.”

“No,” Tristan said just as hurriedly. “I want to bring you pleasure, too.” Gods, he needed something stronger than ale. He needed something that would make all of this easier. “Just… settle there.” He stared at Opal’s ass, then spat on his fingers. With the other hand, he parted Opal’s ass cheeks, looking at his hole and trying to imagine it was just like a woman. Which, it was, sort of—women had asses. He’d just never done this to one of them before.

“Do you need me to help?” Opal asked, sounding dubious. “It’s pretty simple. I cleaned myself thoroughly in the baths too. Maybe I was a little over-eager, but I guess I was optimistic.”

“No, no. I’ll… figure it out.” Tristan was pretty sure he could, anyway. How could it be that different from just sticking his cock in, after all? He’d just start with one finger and see how that felt. “You’ll just need to tell me if I’m doing it right, I suppose.” He vaguely remembered hearing that men had a sensitive spot in their asses, but he’d never experimented with that.

Very gingerly, he pushed his finger against Opal’s hole. The skin was smoother than Tristan’s was, because Tristan had hair even down there. Opal really did shave everywhere. It was nice not to have to worry about hair though.

Tristan was surprised at how little resistance there was when he tried to push in, as if Opal had prepared himself in every manner. “Doesn’t this hurt?” he asked. “Things don’t go… in, normally.”

Opal laughed. “Things definitely go in normally. Your finger isn’t going to do anything to me. I have toys that are… um, never mind. But please continue.”

Toys. Right. Some people used toys, like large fake phalluses made of smooth stone. Tristan had been with a woman who’d liked them, too, for all that she’d cooed about his cock. Maybe she’d been just saying that. Maybe…

Maybe his entire worldview was fucked.

He pushed his finger in a little more insistently, and the muscle stretched and gave way to him. The feeling was strange, like nothing he’d ever experienced before, but it wasn’t bad. “This feels good to you?” he asked doubtfully.

“Yes,” Opal agreed, nodding eagerly. “Go deeper. There’s a spot that will feel really good if you hit it. Especially with those calloused fingers of yours.”

Tristan really wished he’d had more to drink. He hated how timid he was acting. Men did this to other men all the time. Why was he acting like it was something so strange and foreign? Opal certainly didn’t think it was.

He pushed a little deeper, searching out that spot. He didn’t feel much that was different, but Opal gasped and pushed back against him. There. It was right there. It felt slightly… strange, just different enough to where he could figure out where to touch. He pressed against it a little more firmly, rubbing it.

Opal moaned and raised his ass higher. The new angle showed off his hairless balls more than before, and Tristan didn’t know how to feel about that. He almost reached out to touch them but changed his mind. He’d focus on Opal’s hole for now. That was easier.

He gingerly added a second finger, stretching Opal just a little more. “Does that still feel good?” he asked, going back to the spot that seemed to be driving Opal mad.

“Y-yes.” Opal groaned loudly. His hair had fallen forward and was covering his face now, but the little mewling and keening noises let Tristan know he was doing something right.

So he kept doing it.

He took his time, even though his cock was aching and he just wanted to sink it in. Two fingers, then three, then he couldn’t stand it any longer. “Are you ready?” he whispered, not wanting to break into the spell of Opal’s moans.

“Yes please, give it to me hard,” Opal said breathlessly. “Pound into me, darling.”

Tristan could do that, at least. He pulled his fingers out, still feeling a little strange but ready to get on to the more important bits.

That was something to consider later on. Maybe that hadn’t been as bad as he’d expected. He shook off the thoughts, positioning his cock against Opal’s hole and thrusting inside. He let out a groan just as Opal did, and his hands grasped Opal’s hips so he could steady himself.

After a second to catch his breath, Tristan began thrusting in earnest. Opal met every thrust eagerly, tightening his hole as if he was trying to stroke Tristan’s cock. It was amazing how tight Opal was, how expertly he moved.

That probably meant he’d done this with many people before.

Well, Tristan hadn’t exactly been a virgin before all of this, even if Opal had been the first man he’d touched this way. He wished he had more experience so he could make this better for Opal, though he knew he was being sloppy because the drink was making him dizzy. It didn’t stop him from thrusting hard into Opal’s tight hole, taking him again and again until he was on the edge of climax.

“Do… Do you want me to… to touch you?” he asked, for all that he wasn’t sure about how he was going to manage when his equilibrium was so far off.

“Just keep fucking me,” Opal said. He reached down awkwardly, and Tristan couldn’t see what he was doing but he felt the way Opal’s ass tightened again.

Tristan’s relief was palpable, and he kept fucking into Opal’s ass. It felt so ready for him, and each time it clutched him more tightly, he moaned. He was so close, so very close, and the next time Opal clenched around him, Tristan let out a strangled moan as he spilled into Opal’s warm, welcoming ass.

Opal moaned too, and his hand movements sped up. Then Tristan felt Opal’s ass tighten even more, drawing more of Tristan’s orgasm out of him even as Opal cried out in pleasure. It felt so fucking good, and in the moment, he cared about nothing else but his climax and the way Opal felt beneath him.

He remained there for a long moment, until Opal’s breath began to even out again and Tristan felt a bit steadier. He rolled off of Opal, collapsing onto the bed, and he held out his arm to pull Opal close.

Opal snuggled into that spot. His skirts got bunched around his legs, so Tristan couldn’t even see the wet spot that had to be there.

“You’re so good,” Opal murmured, sliding his hand underneath Tristan’s shirt to rub his stomach. “I love how you make me feel.”

Tristan couldn’t help but doubt that just a bit. Opal had already proven he was better at everything today, and Tristan was useless. The thought sobered him, taking him away from the pleasant afterglow of his orgasm. “Glad you enjoyed it,” he said after a pause. “I did too.” Which wasn’t a lie, even if he was having strange thoughts in the wake of it all. “Get some rest,” he said, even though he knew he wouldn’t be able to do the same.

Opal sat up on his elbow and looked down at Tristan. In the lamplight of the room, his eyes looked like they were glowing.

“Hey. I know today was hard,” Opal said quietly. “But I want you to know that you were amazing. I’m here to support you in whatever you need. You can lean on me.”

Nausea threatened to overtake Tristan as Opal brought up what had happened earlier, and he shook his head. “I don’t want to talk about it,” he said roughly, but now that Opal had said it, he could think of nothing else.

Evan, screaming his name, begging for help, burning in front of him.

Gods.

His brother had to have been so terrified and in agony, and all Tristan could do was hope it had been over quickly. He hated that, hated the whole situation, and he suddenly hated Opal for reminding him of it.

Opal leaned down to kiss Tristan’s lips chastely. “Good night, my sweet knight.” Then he snuggled up against Tristan again, laying his head on Tristan’s chest.

“Good night,” Tristan said. As the last vestiges of pleasure left him, he found himself staring into the dark.

It would not be a dreamless night.