22. Chapter 22

Chapter 22

Silvyr

The rest of their patrol had been largely uneventful, much to Silvyr's relief. While they spent most of their time in silence, Silvyr enjoyed taking in their surroundings. Were he smarter, he probably should have tried to run at any point of the patrol. If he could manage to get away from Brokil, it would be easy enough to stay away from him. He was only one man, and if Silvyr waited until they got to the trees, Brokil's horse wouldn't be able to maneuver as easily. But as they rode through the thick forest on the edges of Ghizol's territory, Silvyr made no attempt to leave. He didn't even bother with memorizing the paths they took, knowing full well he would not be attempting another escape in the future, despite what Father would want.

When they returned to Brokil's home, after another orc relieved him of his patrol, Silvyr went inside while Brokil returned the horse to the stables. It took a while for Brokil to return and Silvyr assumed he went to speak with the Council about their encounter with Vakmu.

Trying to make himself useful, Silvyr spent the time he had alone in the kitchen, preparing everything for the meal Brokil would make for dinner. Having never cooked before, Silvyr wasn't quite sure if he had gotten everything right, but he watched Brokil enough times that he was confident that he didn't ruin anything either. Beyond that, he just needed to keep himself occupied and keep his hands moving.

Much to his delight, when Brokil did return to the home, he thanked Silvyr for his help and set to work preparing dinner—a simple stew with thick chunks of meat. While he was healing, Silvyr would sit in the living area and read while Brokil made food, but not that night. That night he stayed by Brokil like he had when he first arrived, watching him chop up chunks of meat, searing the pieces until they were brown, and mixing herbs and spices and vegetables until a thick stew was produced. It was a skill Silvyr had never seen in action before Ghizol, but now he was entranced by the idea of it. The delicious smells filled the house and the taste was even better.

Despite the day in the sun and the evening of quiet companionship, when night fell and Silvyr excused himself for sleep, he returned to his spot on the floor, curling up in the blankets. The chill of night was more present than it had been before, and even though he shivered beneath the blankets, he wouldn't lift himself from his spot. Torn between wanting to be closer to Brokil, and wanting to keep his distance, it was better for him to stay on the ground where he could think clearly. Where he didn't need to worry about Brokil looking into his eyes and seeing into his soul. Yet he felt that craving in his chest to be close, to be in the other man's arms.

Sleep hadn't taken him yet when he felt Brokil's arms around him, lifting him off the ground to bring him to the bed. Silvyr said nothing, but didn't fight against him either, finding it difficult to pretend to sleep when Brokil slipped into bed beside him. With the blankets over his shoulders and Brokil rolling in the bed to turn his back to Silvyr, he allowed himself to open his eyes, staring out the window at the moon.

He waded in half-formed thoughts as sleep threatened to take him, wondering why it was he found himself so weak around this man. Silvyr had stopped bothering to count the days since they arrived in Ghizol, but now they were entirely lost on him. It felt like a lifetime, like a day, like no time had passed at all and yet entire years had passed. And now he was in bed with the man who stole him, and he didn't want to leave it.

When morning came, Silvyr opened his eyes and was met with Brokil's wide chest. Sometime in the night, Brokil had enveloped Silvyr's small frame with his thick arms, pressing him close to his chest. Surrounded by warmth, Silvyr struggled with the idea of leaving any time soon.

Instead, he shifted to press his forehead against Brokil's chest, closing his eyes and taking in a deep breath, filling his lungs with that earthy musk. Gods, he was a fool. He had tried so hard to push away and hide himself to keep Brokil from seeing him, but the moment his arms were around him, his walls crumbled to debris. Worse even, he couldn't help but want to break them even further, to tear them down completely until there was nothing left between them but air. Perhaps not even that.

"You're still here," Brokil murmured, words slurred with sleep. Silvyr found himself smiling, and he didn't bother stopping since his face was hidden from view.

"You're warm," Silvyr said, lifting an arm to lazily lay over Brokil's middle. Warm. Safe. Gods, he was a fool.

Silvyr could feel Brokil's hum deep in the orc's chest. "I told you the nights would get colder as winter draws nearer. You will sleep here from now on."

Almost a demand, but not quite. Even though Silvyr didn't want to let this go too far, knew he shouldn't let it go too far, he couldn't find it in himself to reject the idea. "Alright," Silvyr said, pressing in closer, telling himself it was to seek more warmth. He lifted his head just enough to look at Brokil. "Can I go to the meadow today?"

The orc met his gaze with a sleepy smile. "Yes. I'll be joining you," Brokil told him, and Silvyr didn't find any reason to object. It wasn't like he would be doing anything that required secrecy, he only wanted to pick more flowers after all.

"Do you not have duties to tend to?" Silvyr asked him, hoping against his good sense that the answer was no.

"None that will stop me from joining you. What needs to be done today can be done at my leisure," Brokil said, and while Silvyr was sure the chief had more productive things to do than hang around as he picked flowers, it was easy to believe him.

Silvyr nodded, oddly pleased that he would have another day in the meadow, and that Brokil would be joining him. He knew he shouldn't feel so comfortable with it, with Brokil. Everything he had been raised to believe, everything he'd been taught, demanded that he keep his guard up. If anything, he should be trying to find each and every weakness Brokil had and use them to his advantage.

Yet every chance Silvyr could have taken, he didn't. Not in the tent, not when he was first brought to the house, not even when he was left alone to his own devices. If Father knew even a fraction of the times that Silvyr missed the chance to escape, Silvyr would never live it down.

"When can we go?" Silvyr asked, letting his fingertip draw lazy circles on Brokil's back. A well of satisfaction flowed through him when he felt the gooseflesh under the pads of his fingers.

"If you give me time to pack a few things, we can eat our breakfast out in the fields," Brokil offered, his eyes soft and warm.

Silvyr couldn't stop the smile from appearing on his face at that look, adoration pooling in his belly. Still, he gave a faux put-upon sigh and said, "I suppose I can be patient."

"You will have to let go of me for that," Brokil told him, his warm smile curling into a more devious one that brought heat to Silvyr's cheeks.

"You first," Silvyr challenged, wriggling in his hold. Brokil chuckled and shook his head, lifting his arm away, much to Silvyr's disdain.

Slowly, they pulled themselves out of bed. Silvyr set his feet to the ground and stretched out his limbs, still careful not to aggravate his stitches, watching Brokil out of the corner of his eye get dressed.

Turning away, as to not be subject to more of his teasing, Silvyr found the stack of clothing Brokil had provided him and dressed himself in brown trousers and a white tunic. He knew the grass would stain the tunic, but he didn't care much, finding the idea to be sweet and almost tempting. Something he would never be able to do at home.

By the time he finished dressing, Brokil was already in the kitchen, setting containers of fruit, nuts, and dried meats into a burlap sack. Silvyr didn't have to wait long for Brokil to finish, and soon they were outside, Brokil with the sack over one shoulder and Silvyr sighing happily as he savored the morning sunlight.

The walk to the meadow was pleasant. The township was still sleepy, though as they reached the farmland, Silvyr noticed people already moving through their homesteads and taking care of their animals. To his surprise, when they passed Sharn's farm, the orc woman paused in her tending to the sheep and offered Silvyr a smile and a wave, which he returned with a smile of his own.

When they reached the meadow, Silvyr skipped ahead of Brokil, hurrying to reach the flowers and looking for a place to sit for breakfast. Finding a plush space of various wildflowers, Silvyr plopped himself down and crossed his legs beneath him. Brokil sat beside him, setting the food in front of them, unpacking each container.

A picnic in a meadow was not something Silvyr ever expected to be doing when he'd been taken from his carriage, especially a picnic with his captor. Then again, he also never expected to sleep with him either, yet he had done so more than once, and he couldn't say he wouldn't do it again.

For a while they sat in silence, chewing on their food while Silvyr ran his fingers over the tops of the flowers around them. Finally full, Silvyr began to pluck various flowers around them, setting them into his lap. He tried to pick one of each color and shape, naming them in his head, comparing them to the illustrations in Urzul's book.

"Why do you tear them apart?" Brokil asked. When Silvyr looked over, Brokil had lain back in the flowers, looking at Silvyr through the curtain of petals.

Looking at the flowers in his lap, Silvyr plucked one of the pink petals, holding it up to the sun. "I want to see how they work," Silvyr said, turning the petal between his fingers. "What makes them heal or hurt? What can make you numb, or hallucinate, or sweat, or so many other things? Some do even more; the stems can hurt, but the petals will heal. I wonder if it was designed that way or just a random occurrence. I suppose I'm looking for answers."

"What do you think?"

Silvyr pursed his lips in thoughts, returning the petal to his lap. "I want to think it was done on purpose, that there's a reason for everything, but I really don't know."

"Even with everything you know, the medicine you excel in, you don't know this?" Brokil chuckled softly, and Silvyr couldn't help but smile too.

"It probably doesn't make sense," Silvyr admitted, "but I want to find out. I want to learn more."

Brokil fell silent and Silvyr continued to pull apart the flower, peeling the stem strand by strand. He let the discarded pieces fall into his lap, taking his time with each one. Back home he couldn't imagine ever being allowed to just take time to examine the flowers. The gardens back home were all but off limits to Silvyr, used only to show off their wealth when guests arrived. Silvyr was never given the opportunity to go himself, much less lay amongst the flowers and leaves and herbs. Father never would have allowed it, so everything he knew came from books.

He would miss it, the flowers, the freedom, no matter how little of that he had here. Would he even be able to return after this? Could he go back knowing he'd never be allowed to lay in a meadow again? Or pluck apart flowers until his fingers and clothes were stained green?

How was it that being Brokil's pawn gave Silvyr more freedom than he'd ever had before? He had heard stories of people who fell in love with their kidnappers, and Silvyr always felt they were foolish. But sitting here, he could understand a portion of it. They had to have been in love with freedom. With the change that came with being in a new place and in new surroundings. It wasn't the person; it was the feeling. It had to be. There was no other explanation that made sense.

Yet when he looked at the man beside him, Silvyr couldn't tell if he fell into that situation. It was undeniable that Silvyr didn't hate him. As much as he should hate and fear Brokil, Silvyr simply didn't. He didn't know what the feelings brewing in the pit of his stomach were, but he knew for a fact that it was not hatred. The warmth that Brokil gave him, the way Silvyr felt stable and free for the first time in his life, none of that brought him anything but comfort.

He had to be delusional. Everything about his situation screamed that he should be smarter and more guarded. He should have spent every moment trying to break free and run, or kill the man lazing in the flowers beside him. The fact that he wasn't even trying should have been enough to have Silvyr stripped of all his titles and sent to the dungeons to be long forgotten as the Quilen failure and embarrassment.

While he knew what he should do and what would be expected of him, the only thing he wanted to do was learn more about the orc laying in the flowers. He wanted to embrace the comfort that Brokil provided, even if he didn't think it was intended to be given. Perhaps Silvyr was simply selfish. Or perhaps it was worse than that.

Deep in the pit of his stomach, he needed to be sure. He needed to know.

"Brokil?" Silvyr said, speaking softly. Beside him, Brokil rolled over to face him.

"Yes?"

"I have a request, and I would like you to not ridicule me for it." Silvyr turned away, fearing that Brokil staring at him would make his bravery waver.

He could hear Brokil sitting up in the flowers. "What is your request?" Brokil asked, suddenly sounding much more serious.

Taking a deep breath to steel himself, Silvyr brushed the flower remains off his lap and looked over at him. "If I asked you to kiss me, would you?"

Brokil's shoulders relaxed and confusion crossed his face. Surely, he expected something far more serious, but to Silvyr, it was nothing less than dire. "Just a kiss?" he asked, each word slow and precise. "Why?"

"I want to pretend." Silvyr didn't know what he would be pretending to do. Pretend to be wanted? Pretend that he had some kind of future here? Pretend that there was a place for him somewhere?

Brokil's silence would have brought a sweat to his brow if the morning breeze hadn't graced them with its presence. "Pretend," Brokil repeated, no inflection to his voice at all, and Silvyr felt his resolve shatter.

Looking away from him again, Silvyr stared at his hands in his lap. He had gone too far. That was the proof he needed, wasn't it? It was foolish from the beginning to forget where he stood. Hadn't Brokil said that before? Hadn't he told Silvyr over and over how little he was? Hadn't he said on more than one occasion that Silvyr wasn't worth anything, not even worth pretending? Hadn't Brokil been clear from the beginning that Silvyr deserved nothing?

I think you forget where you are.

You spoiled shit.

You are nothing.

You are weak.

You're a fool then.

You are a fucking child.

I've had enough of your talking.

"I'm sorry, it was ridiculous," Silvyr said quickly, moving to his knees to stand. Another mistake to add to the list. "I'll return to your home."

"Silvyr." Brokil's firm voice made Silvyr freeze, only just barely up on his feet. "Come here, don't walk away from me again." The orc stared at Silvyr, shifting to cross his legs, patting his thigh.

Running was not an option, he knew that. If Brokil truly didn't want him to leave, he wouldn't let Silvyr get very far.

Taking another deep breath, Silvyr moved to his knees in front of Brokil, though he struggled to lift his head and look him in the eyes. Silvyr's heart nearly flew out of his chest when he felt Brokil's hand cupping his cheek, tilting his head up to meet his gaze. Even this, Silvyr couldn't bear, fearing that he would be faced with Brokil's teasing. He couldn't take that right now, not when he felt a breath away from shattering completely. If it was anything else, he could take it. He would take it. But not this. Closing his eyes seemed to be the only option.

"If you're going to tease or ridicule me, please don't. I know you think I'm a fool and that I'm weak and that I'm nothing so please don't say it. I already know, you've already told me," Silvyr begged, the words spilling out faster than he could process. "You can ridicule me later, I can't do it right now. I can't. Please."

"Look at me," Brokil told him. Silvyr took in a shuddering breath to steady himself and opened his eyes, biting down on the inside of his cheek. Looking into Brokil's powerful amber gaze, Silvyr wanted nothing more than to disappear, never to be seen again, or better yet, never to have existed in the first place.

Until Brokil leaned in and pressed his lips against Silvyr's, and everything around them disappeared. Reaching up, Silvyr placed his hands on Brokil's chest, allowing himself to lean in and fall into the depths.

Sooner than he would have liked, Brokil pulled away. Silvyr couldn't stop the small whine that escaped his lips, bringing a deep blush to his cheeks. "Is that all you wanted?" Brokil asked, shifting his hand to run the pad of his thumb over Silvyr's lips.

"Again. Please," Silvyr whispered, hoping that Brokil wouldn't deny him.

Brokil wrapped his free arm around Silvyr's middle and pulled him up and into his lap, taking his lips again.

That first time they'd kissed all those months ago, frantic and sweaty on the ground, Silvyr had been surprised to find Brokil's tusks didn't get in the way, surprised to find he liked the way they pressed against his cheeks, felt beneath his tongue. Now that Silvyr was able to focus on the feeling of Brokil's lips on his own, without the urgency of their previous fucking, Silvyr savored the sensation, curling his fingers into Brokil's shirt and drinking him in. The way his lips moved to fit against Silvyr's as though they were made to kiss him. The way he tasted of the leftover juices from the berries they shared for breakfast. The low, barely audible, grunts and groans he poured into Silvyr's mouth, which the elf desperately swallowed.

Hist taste. His scent. His all-consuming aura. Him.

"What else do you want?" Brokil murmured against Silvyr's lips.

Pulling back, just enough to look Brokil in the eyes, Silvyr ran his hands up the orc's chest and looped his arms around his shoulders. "Touch me," he breathed.

"Where?"

"Everywhere, please."

Then Brokil's lips were on his again, his hands grasping Silvyr's hips to draw him in, slipping underneath the back of Silvyr's tunic to press against bare skin. Silvyr closed his eyes, savoring the way Brokil's calloused hands left a trail of flame over every bit of skin he could reach, pulling a quiet whimper from Silvyr's throat.

By no means was Brokil the first man to touch him like this, but his hands covered so much space, held so much warmth, that they filled Silvyr with a heat he'd never experienced before. The roughness Silvyr had come to expect was nowhere to be seen as Brokil continued to caress him. Some part of Silvyr deep down knew he would never experience the same intensity or softness ever again.

Brokil slid his hands down into the waist of Silvyr's trousers, grasping his ass tenderly. Unable to stop himself, Silvyr arched to the touch, rocking his hips forward, shuddering when he felt the groan from Brokil in return. Keeping one arm around Brokil's shoulder, he slid his other hand between the two of them, gasping when he was met with the orc's hard length.

"Are you planning to take this further?" Brokil asked against his lips.

Silvyr opened his eyes, locking his gaze with Brokil's. "I shouldn't. But I can't stop myself from wanting it," Silvyr admitted, sliding his free hand to cup Brokil's cheek. "It's foolish, isn't it? To pretend things are different."

Though he didn't say anything, the look on Brokil's face told Silvyr that he understood, at least a little. That there was a part of him that knew what Silvyr was feeling and maybe even felt the same thing. How did he handle the emotions? How did he keep them from seeping out of every pore and consuming his every thought?

"Silvyr—"

"Father won't agree to your terms," Silvyr interrupted, and Brokil's face fell as realization began to set in. Brokil had to know this. No matter how much they pretended, or how they wanted to forget the reality around them, this was undeniable.

"He must."

"He won't," Silvyr repeated, a sad smile crossing his face. "I know my father, Brokil, and I know what I am to him. You picked the wrong son to steal." The disbelief all over Brokil's face was to be expected. Perhaps Silvyr should have said it sooner, maybe Brokil would have let him go, then he wouldn't be stuck in this situation. "I will not be a heavy loss on Father's heart."

"Enough." Brokil brought his hands to Silvyr's face, holding him there as if he had no intention of ever letting go. "Enough of this, Silvyr."

Silvyr dropped his gaze to Brokil's chest, the intensity of his stare too much. "You need to know. We both need to be prepared to—"

Brokil's lips cut him off and Silvyr whimpered against them, gripping Brokil's linens so tight his fingers ached. The words died in Silvyr's throat, and for a moment he let himself just exist in Brokil's arms, feeling only his mouth, the burn of his beard, his tusks. Him.

"No more thinking, Little Flower," Brokil whispered, his breath caressing Silvyr's lips. "For once, let your mind go blank. Can you do that?"

"Yes. Just don't stop touching me," Silvyr immediately answered.

As long as Brokil continued to kiss him, touch him, fill him, then Silvyr could let himself fall into that void where thought became meaningless. He could find refuge there, where strong hands enveloped him in warmth, protecting him from the bleakness of reality.

Brokil's lips met Silvyr's throat, wet and open-mouthed against the sensitive flesh, making him shudder. The scratching of his beard left a wake of electricity in its path as Brokil tugged the collar of Silvyr's linen down to expose more of his skin, and Silvyr made no effort to hide his soft sigh as he tilted his head back to give the orc more room. Each time Brokil's tongue pressed against his skin, each time his teeth grazed his flesh, Silvyr fell deeper and deeper into him.

Brokil's hand slid back into Silvyr's trousers, grabbing and squeezing his ass as Silvyr rocked forward against him. Each touch was soft, softer than Brokil had touched him before when they were like this. Maybe Silvyr should have asked him to be rough and force him into amnesia, but part of him craved the softness, the caring, and with each lick and stroke, heat pooled in his stomach, begging to be released.

"Brokil," Silvyr whimpered as the orc's fingers ran over his slit from behind, teasing the sensitive skin.

"Do you want me to stop?" he asked against Silvyr's throat.

"No," Silvyr said, too quickly as he felt Brokil chuckling softly. "Please don't stop."

As though he needed to prove his point, prove to Brokil that he didn't want this to end any time soon, Silvyr slipped a hand beneath the waistband of the orc's trousers and pressed his open palm against Brokil's cock, wrapping his fingers loosely around it. The length beneath his touch was already hard and ready for him, and Brokil's rumbling groan brought a small gasp to Silvyr's lips.

Brokil responded immediately, his hands tightening on Silvyr's ass and his teeth biting down hard enough to elicit a shameless moan from Silvyr's lips. He only pulled back long enough to get Silvyr out of his trousers, tossing them aside as Silvyr slotted close again to fight off the morning breeze, whimpering at the friction as he rubbed against Brokil's thigh.

He would give anything to stay in this moment, with Brokil's hands running over his thighs, touching every piece of bare skin, looking down at him like he meant something. Brokil continued to kiss him, drawing him away from the dour thoughts, and Silvyr gasped suddenly when he felt Brokil's finger press into him.

He rocked his hips with desperation, trying to feel more of him, feel him deeper. One finger wasn't enough. Gods, would anyone be enough for Silvyr after Brokil? Another finger. Silvyr moaned against Brokil's lips and he couldn't hold himself back from pushing at Brokil's trousers, just until his cock was freed from its confines.

Wrapping his fingers around Brokil's length, Silvyr stroked him slowly, trying to focus while Brokil's fingers bore into him. Flames roared through his veins, and as he pressed his tongue into Brokil's mouth, the orc rubbed that part deep inside that made him lurch and mewl, grinding against his hand to feel more. He needed more, needed what Brokil would give him, what only Brokil had given him. Through all of his lovers and trysts, none of them brought Silvyr to the very edges of pleasure like this. They were all quick and simple rendezvous, whereas this was a fervent delight.

Silvyr whined at the sudden emptiness when Brokil pulled out of him and he couldn't stop himself from pressing forward, grinding against the orc and relishing in the low groan that came from deep in Brokil's throat.

"Please, Brokil," Silvyr whimpered against his lips. "Please."

It didn't take much begging, thank the gods, as Brokil lifted Silvyr by his hips, hovering him over his length. Silvyr adjusted Brokil to line up with him, licking one of Brokil's tusks before letting himself sink down on the full length. Gods, he could feel him everywhere, around him, inside him. He could swear the orc was in his stomach, wondered if he'd see the outline of him if he looked down, if he'd feel him if he pressed a hand against his belly.

"Fuck," Brokil groaned against him, fingers digging into his hips hard enough that Silvyr hoped he would bruise again.

Silvyr didn't wait before rolling his hips, gasping at the sensation. No one had been this deep, no one had filled him like this, and gods no one made the world around him disappear so effortlessly. Grabbing onto Brokil's shoulders, Silvyr leveraged himself up and down Brokil's length, letting gravity drive the man deeper and deeper inside him, letting the moans and mewls slip out without care. Let whoever decided to pass by hear him. Let them hear how Brokil brought him to pleasure and brought him to peace.

Words became lost to them both, replaced only with skin against skin and the hungry devouring of lips. The groans and grunts Brokil poured into him set Silvyr's skin ablaze and he drank in every one as though they were the finest wine, letting himself get drunk on the orc. When Brokil pressed his thumb against Silvyr's clit, he whimpered and rocked his hips to feel more of that sweet friction.

"Brokil," Silvyr moaned against his lips.

Breaking away from him, Brokil let his forehead rest against Silvyr's, eyes boring into his, and Silvyr didn't dare look away. Let him see. Let him see everything. "Cum for me, Little Flower," Brokil whispered, thrusting his hips up so suddenly, so deeply, Silvyr couldn't help but be undone.

Brokil's thumb rolled over his clit and Silvyr pushed down on him, grinding him deeper and deeper until stars filled his vision and the wave thrashed through him, sending him over the ledge completely. Bucking his hips, Silvyr arched and cried out, his muscles quivering and hips stuttering in desperation as he released a lava hot explosion from his core. Still, the orc did not relent, thrusting hard and fast, using Silvyr and keeping him filled through his orgasm.

Silvyr couldn't help but glance down, just to check, just to know, and gasped at the slight extension in his belly where he could see Brokil moving within him. Gods, he was truly ruined after this. No one else would be able to compare, surely.

"Inside," Silvyr demanded, biting Brokil's lower lip and pressing a hand to his stomach where he knew Brokil would feel it. "Cum inside me."

The orc growled, the sound vibrating against his lips, and Silvyr wondered if anyone else had undone Brokil like he had, if anyone else had made him wild with furious thrusts and grunts like this. Selfishly, he hoped the answer was no. Selfishly, as seed filled him, he hoped no one else ever would.

The air settled between them, nothing but the sounds of their heavy breathing and the thundering of their hearts to interrupt the silence. Silvyr stared into the deep amber of Brokil's eyes, shining in the sunlight and glowing with a radiance that filled Silvyr's cheeks with heat, and he finally let himself admit the truth. He let himself see what he'd been forcing down, terrified to confront because no good could come from it. He knew where his life would take him, knew that it would soon be over. So why let these feelings burst through the dam he so painstakingly built? Why fool himself into thinking either of them could change anything?

When Brokil plunged the blade, what good would Silvyr's admittance do?

"You're crying," Brokil whispered, cupping Silvyr's face.

"Kiss me one more time. Please."