9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Brokil

They were only half a day's journey from home when camp was set up for the final time.

If Brokil had his way, they'd have continued through the night, but the journey had been long and tiresome, and on occasion, dangerous. The men and women with him were hardy and strong, but even the best of them needed rest. And besides, they were nearly home with their prize in hand. They deserved the chance to celebrate their accomplishments.

The closer and closer they go to home, the longer into the night the celebrations would extend. Sometimes Brokil would join them for an hour, maybe two, drinking and singing their war chants and sharing in the camaraderie. Never staying too long before returning to his tent to ensure their prize remained where he belonged. After the first night, any worry that their captive would attempt an escape left him. The elf must have realized that any hope would prove to be fruitless.

To his credit, he was smarter than Brokil assumed, which benefit them both. Brokil no longer needed to worry about Silvyr running off, and Silvyr didn't need to worry about the other orcs around him beating him senseless. Yes, Brokil told them they could not touch the prince, but that was entirely dependent on his good behavior. There were no promises if Silvyr was stupid enough to try and run again.

Back in his tent for the night, Brokil looked over to where Silvyr sat, picking at some loose threads in the hemming of his worn and ruined silks. No matter how often Brokil offered him something else to wear, the stubborn prince refused every time, clinging to those useless garments, even after they were soaked and utterly ruined from the rain. The thought did make Brokil smile despite himself, turning his face to avoid him seeing it.

Outside, the warriors cheered and let out whooping toasts to their success.

"So, we will be in Amesisle tomorrow?" Silvyr asked, his voice lifting above the rabble outside.

When Brokil looked back, Silvyr was already staring up at him, eyes like billowing wild grass. "We're already in Amesisle. The outer edges, but we will arrive at the township tomorrow," he answered.

"You never told me the name of your township. Back home, you are just known as the Amesisle orcs," Silvyr said, crossing his legs underneath himself.

"That's not surprising. The Tyrant King views us as a monolith," Brokil scoffed, moving to his trunk. "The township is called Ghizol, named after the founder herself." Brokil removed his shirt, uncaring of the elf's eyes on him, and ran his fingers along the scar forming on his chest to check the healing.

"Ghizol. I don't recognize the name," Silvyr said, his voice softer, and when Brokil glanced at him, the elf had turned his head to the side, a pretty pink flush on his cheeks.

Brokil tossed his shirt into the trunk and untied the loops of his trouser strings, pushing the fabric past his hips. Still, the elf did not look away, every emotion written across his pretty face for all to see. A raging gale blazed like a firestorm in the meadows of his eyes, burning each piece of Brokil's flesh as they dragged over him.

Brokil couldn't help the way his lips twitched at that look. "Again, I'm not surprised. Perhaps your education was not as thorough as it should have been."

"Perhaps so." Silvyr shifted under his blankets, tugging them up to his waist. "Where will I be put when we arrive in Ghizol?"

"I haven't decided yet," Brokil mused. It was a lie. He had already made the decision to keep Silvyr where he could keep an eye on him. His own home was large enough for another to dwell in, though Silvyr took up little space as is, and it had the benefit of having no others residing there. "Maybe the stockades in the open square?"

He caught the smallest of sparkling laughs escaping the prince. "Stockades? Seems a bit extreme. And a surefire way to make sure Father gives you nothing you have requested. I had begun to think you were clever."

There it was. That teasing defiance. From the way the elf looked at him, allowing himself to look Brokil up and down, Silvyr knew exactly what he was doing.

"Then what would you choose as the sensible place for you?" Brokil asked, turning to face him and crossing his arms over his chest. He reveled in the flush that returned to Silvyr's cheeks as he spun his head away. "Perhaps you'd like to stay in my home and continue to watch me undress every day?"

"N-no!" Silvyr sputtered, drawing a hearty laugh from Brokil. He utterly failed in his lie, Brokil saw right through it.

"Really?" Brokil asked, taking a few steps forward. "So, tell me, boy, how often do you stare when you think I'm not looking?"

"I don't stare."

Another lie. A cute one, but Brokil couldn't let him get away with two lies in a row. It would lead to others, and that simply could not stand. Kneeling beside the prince, Brokil grinned when he saw how he trembled in his presence.

"Do not lie to me, boy." Brokil grabbed a fistful of Silvyr's hair, forcing the elf to look up at him. Silvyr gaped, eyes locking onto Brokil's. "I know what I see. You stare even when you think I do not see. So, tell me, and speak truth, boy. Do you like what you see?"

Silvyr closed his mouth and swallowed hard, eyes darting down and back up. Poor thing seemed at a loss for words. Well, that would not be an excuse. Brokil would do nothing unless he heard the boy admit it aloud, not just to Brokil, but to himself.

"Well, boy?" Brokil prompted.

"I… Yes," Silvyr finally admitted, voice barely a whisper, and though he couldn't turn his head away, he closed his eyes.

"Look at me, boy," Brokil demanded. To his delight, Silvyr obeyed him without a word of defiance. With his free hand, Brokil grabbed him by the nape of the neck, drawing him in, lips curling into a ravenous grin. "And what would you have me do about it? I will admit, you are a pretty little thing and you make such pretty little sounds in the middle of the night."

That drew a soft gasp from the boy, barely audible over the clamoring outside Brokil could almost see the choices and possibilities playing in his mind, yet his eyes never left Brokil's.

"Had it been in your plans to ravish me?" Silvyr asked, and though his voice trembled and his throat bobbed, Brokil could hear how he tried to steady himself.

"No. Not until I saw you, and how much you apparently crave it. Enough to bring yourself to pleasure in my tent," Brokil replied, an honest answer. When coming up with the plan to capture the prince, taking him to his bed had never been part of it. But then he saw those shining eyes, the fire that raged inside him. He felt those soft hands on his chest. Saw his lithe frame through soaked silks. Since then, he could think of little else as they rode for home. "Do you crave it? Speak truth, boy."

Again, Silvyr fell into silence. His eyes dropped to the scar on Brokil's chest, then back to his face. "I shouldn't…with you of all people," Silvyr muttered, as though trying to convince himself. "Yet…"

"Yet what? Say it."

Without breaking eye contact, Silvyr placed his hands, trembling and soft, on Brokil's thighs. "I want you to ravish me."

A grin spread across Brokil's lips. That's all he needed.

Closing the gap between them, Brokil crashed his lips against Silvyr's, swallowing the gasp the elf let out as his nails dug into Brokil's skin. Silvyr parted his lips without hesitation, and Brokil drank him in, all teeth and tongue, desperate and devouring.

Brokil released Silvyr's hair and tore the blanket away, tossing it to the side and placed his hand on Silvyr's thigh, nearly wrapping his fingers completely around him. "On your back, boy," Brokil commanded against Silvyr's lips.

Against him, Brokil felt Silvyr's lips quirk into that familiar, defiant smile. "Make me," the boy breathed, dragging his nails along Brokil's thigh, leaving sparks in their wake and making his cock twitch with anticipation.

"You like being punished, don't you?" Brokil slid a hand to Silvyr's throat, the other running up his thigh to press against his heat, and he grinned when he felt just how intoxicatingly hot he was, already dampening his silks.

Silvyr shifted to press into his touch, his lips parted as he let out a shuddering gasp, and Brokil gave a low chuckle.

"That must be a yes." Without waiting for an answer, Brokil slammed Silvyr into the ground, hand still wrapped around his throat, and straddled his slender frame. "You want to be a little brat, then I'll treat you like one," he whispered into the boy's ear, savoring the low moan Silvyr let out when Brokil curled his fingers against his wet heat.

The elf eagerly pressed into him when Brokil put his mouth to his once more, parting his lips to let Brokil taste him. To let him suck at his tongue and draw a quiet little moan from the boy. Brokil pressed forward even more, his hips tight against Silvyr's belly so he could feel how large he was, how hard.

Silvyr shivered underneath him, arching his back and shoving his hands through Brokil's hair, fingers tugging at the locks until Brokil let out a low groan of his own. He pulled back just enough to let the boy breathe. "Full of surprises indeed."

"You're easy to surprise," Silvyr murmured against his lips, running the tip of his tongue along one of Brokil's tusks.

Sitting up, Brokil looked down at the elf beneath him, hair splayed out and chest heaving, those brilliant eyes the color of the grassy plains staring up at him with rapt anticipation.

"It's about time I got rid of these rags," Brokil said, grabbing the collar of Silvyr's top with both hands and pulling the fabric apart with a satisfying tear, exposing the pale flesh beneath.

The remains of the bruises Silvyr suffered still clung to him, but Brokil wasted no time with that and instead latched his mouth on one of Silvyr's pink nipples. Beneath him, Silvyr gasped and arched his back off the floor, pulling again at Brokil's hair.

"Ruined my shirt," Silvyr grumbled through a soft moan, and Brokil couldn't stop himself from laughing.

Slipping his hand into the elf's trousers, Brokil pressed his fingers between his soft folds, eliciting a low gasp as Silvyr rocked his into the touch. Though he had half a mind to tease and make this boy beg, Brokil couldn't stop himself from pressing a finger into him, only pausing once he hit the first knuckle. Arching his back, Silvyr let out a small whine, his hands reaching up to grasp at Brokil's shoulders, nails biting hard into the skin.

"And I'm going to ruin you too. You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Brokil lifted his head, meeting Silvyr's gaze. Silvyr didn't speak, but the tilt of his head answered for him. The way he stared at Brokil through half-closed lids gave him his answer. He craved this just as much as Brokil did. The way he pressed into Brokil's hands, arched against his tongue on his skin. The way his cunt was absolutely drenched, his skin flushing a lovely pink. Everything told Brokil that this prince needed to be fucked. "But I can be merciful."

"Can you?" Silvyr murmured, licking his lips while he apparently struggled to pick a place to stare, his eyes darting all over Brokil's body.

Hooking his fingers in the waist of Silvyr's silk trousers, Brokil yanked them off and discarded them, taking his time to brush his hands over Silvyr's slender legs.

"Look at you," Brokil purred, running his fingertips over Silvyr's hips, bringing his thumb to press against his clit and rub slow circles over the swollen nub. Again, Silvyr gasped and rocked his hips up. "I've barely started and you're practically dripping. Were you this wet when you touched yourself? What were you thinking about, I wonder?"

Silvyr's cheeks blazed red. "Is the commentary needed?" he asked, turning his head away.

"It is. And you'll answer my question soon enough." Brokil grinned, reaching up to run his fingertips along the side of Silvyr's face, then grazed his lips. "You love this, don't you?" He slipped his first and second fingers into Silvyr's mouth. "Get my fingers nice and wet. I'm going to open you up for my cock."

Silvyr moaned around him, but obeyed without question, rolling his tongue over each digit. Brokil's cock ached at the sight, and he couldn't help but imagine what it would look like with those soft lips around it. How that pretty little tongue would feel slipping and gliding over his length. Would his eyes go hazy the same way they were now?

"That's a good boy," Brokil told him, reaching down to stroke himself while watching Silvyr hungrily suck and lick his fingers. He couldn't remember the last time he bedded someone so eager, so beautiful, so entrancing. "If I knew you listened this well while I was on top of you, I would have done this much sooner."

As though in reply, Silvyr mewled against his fingers and Brokil pulled them from his mouth, bringing his hand down to press the first thick finger completely into him.

Releasing a shameless moan, Silvyr arched up, his hands finding purchase in Brokil's forearms, digging his nails into the skin. "Gods…" Silvyr whimpered, rocking his hips in time with Brokil's ministrations. "Your hands are so big."

Brokil chuckled and pressed a second finger into the prince, watching him writhe beneath him. "And yet you want more, don't you?" With his free hand, Brokil traced Silvyr's clit lazily, his fingers on the other sliding in and out of the cavern of wet muscle with increasing speed until Silvyr's thighs trembled and his back arched.

"Yes, gods yes," Silvyr whimpered, lifting himself just enough to push away his torn shirt. Now completely bare, Brokil drank in the sight that was Silvyr Quilen, first-born son of the fucking Tyrant King, moaning and arching from his every touch, begging to be fucked.

"Tell me, boy, when was the last time you bedded a man?" Brokil asked, pulling his fingers out to the tips before pushing them roughly back inside, savoring the gasp and the way his hips stuttered.

"A while," Silvyr told him through gasping breaths. Propping himself up on his elbows, he looked down to watch Brokil's fingers work, his mouth hanging open in a long moan while Brokil's fingers slapped against wet skin, palm pressing into his clit with each rough thrust. "But they weren't… You're so much bigger."

The prince's eyes moved from Brokil's fingers to his length, licking his lips before sucking his bottom lip between his teeth.

Brokil smirked, leaning down, teasing his lips over Silvyr's. "And you're going to feel it. All of it," he promised, pressing his lips roughly against Silvyr's, swallowing each whimper and moan. Silvyr parted his lips and Brokil slipped his tongue into Silvyr's mouth, tasting him and savoring the way Silvyr chased after him when he pulled away to speak. "Do you think you're ready for me? Do you think you can take all of me, boy?"

Silvyr desperately nodded, sliding his hands up Brokil's arms and letting them rest on his shoulders, careful to keep his touch light on the wounded one. The thought brought a strange warmth spilling into Brokil, but he was determined to ignore it.

"I can," Silvyr mewled against his lips. "Do it."

"You're very demanding. I'm not one of your subjects that you can give orders to," Brokil said, thrusting his fingers harshly into him, watching as Silvyr bucked his hips, a small cry escaping him. "I should punish you for even thinking you have room for demands."

"Please!" Silvyr gasped, rocking into Brokil's now shallow strokes. "Please, I want to take it. Please."

It was too late, the bratty little princeling simply needed to be punished for his audacity.

Rapidly fucking his fingers in and out of Silvyr's tight cunt, his palm slamming into his clit every time he fully sheathed his fingers, Brokil became determined to destroy this prince. Silvyr screwed his eyes shut tight as his back arched off the ground, mouth still hanging open with desperate pleas and garbled whimpers that no longer made any sense, and by all the gods, Brokil had never seen anything more beautiful.

Did he look like this when he found his pleasure by himself? With his eyes shut and his body pulled tight like a bow string? Were his lips red and raw after locking away his moans behind his teeth? Did he have any idea that he nearly forced Brokil out of his cot and on him if he had continued even a moment longer?

Did that fucking prince have any idea that he settled roots in the pit of Brokil's stomach and invaded his senses like a nymph from the realms of fae? Dangerous and beautiful.

Yet, nothing was more beautiful than watching Silvyr fucking back on his fingers, feeling his cunt clenching around him, seeing his thighs spasming and toes curling. Silvyr's back bowed off the ground again, nails digging into Brokil's shoulders, obscenely mewling into Brokil's ear and forcing a low growl from his lips and he couldn't stop himself from grabbing Silvyr by the hair with his free hand to slam their lips together. The obscene mewl Silvyr released, his back bowing and his nails clawing into Brokil's skin, snapped something taut between them. A low growl rumbled from Brokil's lips, and he couldn't stop himself from grabbing Silvyr by the hair and slamming their lips together.

"Tell me, what did you think about that night? What did you think about when you touched yourself after staring at me in my cot?" Brokil asked against his lips, getting only a choking sob as his reply. "Answer me, boy. If you want to cum, you're going to answer me."

Eyes like emeralds stared up at him, tears pooling at the corners and threatening to spill over. Gods, he wanted to taste those tears.

"N-no, I didn't," Silvyr tried to lie, the flush spreading down his neck and the fingers twitching against his shoulders giving him away.

"I know what I heard." Brokil crooked his fingers harshly inside him, savoring the strangled gasp it elicited. Leaning down, he grazed his lips along the extended shell of the elf's ear. "Did you think about me, Little Flower? Did you think about my fingers fucking you? How did yours compare? It wasn't enough, was it?"

"I-I didn't," Silvyr whimpered, his own words morphing into a pitiful moan when Brokil pressed his thumb hard against his clit.

With a low tsk, Brokil stopped his ministrations against the prince. Almost immediately, Silvyr whined so loud he might have been heard above the chanting outside. He tried to thrust on Brokil's fingers himself, but Brokil only moved his fingers with Silvyr's desperate grinding, refusing to give him any relief.

"You lie. It doesn't suit you," Brokil said with a hum. Silvyr stared up at him, a wellspring of mortification flowering across his face, words unneeded as he remained unable to hide his emotions.

"I-I thought—"

"Thought what, boy?"

"I thought about you," Silvyr finally admitted. If he was ashamed of his admission, there was no time to discover it as Brokil thrust his fingers deep into him as a reward. Throwing his head back until it thunked on the ground, Silvyr sang his pleasure to the sky.

While Brokil continued to thrust his fingers roughly into him, grinding his palm against his swollen, abused clit, hot tears streamed down Silvyr's cheeks. He might have stopped, he might have made sure the boy was okay, but the way Silvyr pushed and rocked his hips into his fingers, moaning each time his clit was touched, Brokil knew that he craved everything being done to him, and by all the gods, Brokil wanted to keep Silvyr unraveling beneath him.

Silvyr was just barely able to open his eyes before they rolled back again, and he bucked against Brokil's fingers, slapping a hand over his mouth to contain a screaming moan as a hot gush of squirt slickened Brokil's hand. Brokil snatched Silvyr's hand away from his mouth as he worked him through his orgasm. He'd be damned if he let the boy cover those fucking delicious sounds he was making as he clenched and writhed beneath him.

"That's a good boy for me." Brokil smirked, finally pulling his fingers from Silvyr, grazing his fingertips feather-light over his clit, and chuckling when the prince's hips stuttered and his breath hitched. "Are you ready to ask nicely for my cock?"

"Please," Silvyr said, breathless and shuddering. He pushed his legs further apart, his swollen pussy glistening in the lantern light, and fucking hell, Brokil's cock ached to bury himself deep inside this quivering mess of a prince. "Please let me take your cock."

Silvyr no longer hid how he ogled and stared, the desire plain in his eyes.

"On your knees," Brokil demanded, grinning when Silvyr obeyed, his legs trembling as he flipped over. Brokil shifted to his knees behind him, bringing his open palm down on Silvyr's ass and watching it ripple. A resounding slap echoed through the tent, and Brokil relished in the undignified moan the prince released. He repeated the action on the other side, pleased to see the redness that bloomed over pale skin. "A beautiful fucking ass."

The firelight from the flickering lantern danced along the elf's near flawless skin, shining with sweat and glowing with a radiance that a weaker man might have been destroyed by. But not Brokil. Eagerly drinking the sight of him in, Brokil licked his lips when Silvyr turned to look at him over his shoulder, their eyes locking.

Behind those eyes, Brokil could see the fire that burned inside him. Through the pomp and defiance, there was an eager desire that Brokil was more than willing to satisfy.

Silvyr responded immediately when Brokil's fingers slipped back into his wet heat, rocking back in time with Brokil's movements. "You're teasing me," Silvyr whimpered, letting his head hang while he rocked his hips.

"Not teasing. You need this, trust me," Brokil said, leaning down to run his tongue over Silvyr's ass while he continued to finger him.

Soft sighs and moans floated through the tent, and Brokil knew he would be lost in those sounds the longer this went on. Of course, he shouldn't be here, biting the flesh of Silvyr's ass with his fingers deep inside him, his thumb circling his engorged clit, it went against everything they were meant to do. But he was willing to be selfish, willing to take what he wanted and in return give this princeling what he needed.

Sitting back up, Brokil pulled his fingers from Silvyr and ran his slick over his cock, mixing it with the beaded precum. He grasped himself by the root and leaned down, chest flush with the boy's back and the tip of his cock nudging the slippery length of Silvyr's cunt.

"Don't forget to breathe, boy. This is going to hurt," he warned, pushing the tip into him, the tightness already nearly overwhelming.

"Stop talking and do it then," Silvyr said through a soft moan. "Or are you more talk than action?" Silvyr's lips twitched into a devious grin as he glanced back at him, and Brokil growled low in his throat, grabbing his hips.

"Watch your tongue, boy," Brokil warned before grabbing Silvyr's hips and sheathing himself fully inside the boy. He bit back a growl as the wet heat enveloped him, squeezing his cock deliciously.

Silvyr should count himself lucky that Brokil was committed to not hurting him, or he would have shoved into the elf hard and fast, with no time to adjust to his size. Instead, he paused long enough for Silvyr to let out a long shuddering breath, his fingers curling into the tarp beneath him.

"That's it," Brokil grunted as Silvyr trembled beneath him with another breath, "that's a good boy. Taking me so well."

He held Silvyr's hips so tight, he was sure bruises would linger on his pale skin. A new bouquet of violet petals that would bloom into speckled marigolds. Lovely. Tempting. Brokil didn't wait, couldn't wait. He pulled out halfway before slamming right back in, savoring the long moan Silvyr released.

"You feel that? You have all of me inside you," Brokil told him, pressing his lips against Silvyr's shoulder, tasting the sweetness of his sweat, like honey and fruit. He couldn't help but wonder what his cunt tasted like.

"You're so… Gods–" Silvyr mewled, his arms shaking as they struggled to hold his weight.

Brokil smirked, running his hands up Silvyr's body and over his chest, pulling him straight up with him. With Silvyr held up with his back tight against Brokil's chest, he continued to rock his hips up.

"Look at you, such a little mess," Brokil teased, but Silvyr could only respond in desperate moans and whimpers as he jolted his hips back to meet Brokil's. Lifting one hand, Brokil wrapped his fingers around Silvyr's throat, bringing forth another moan as the elf placed a delicate hand on Brokil's wrist. "You like that? Having my hand around that little neck of yours?"

Silvyr moaned so prettily, dropping his head back onto Brokil's chest, staring up at him with those emerald eyes.

"Yes," Silvyr answered, and Brokil nearly came undone. He watched Silvyr's hand slide down, reaching for his clit, and Brokil grinned, wrapping his other arm fully around the elf to trap his arms against his sides. "I-I need…"

"You can touch yourself when I give you permission, boy," Brokil told him, leaning down to kiss him again, groaning against those pretty lips. Squeezing Silvyr tight against him, he continued to thrust with long, deep strokes, swallowing each and every moan. He angled his hips, slamming deep inside Silvyr, grinding against that spot inside him that made him clench and all but scream into Brokil's mouth. "I wonder what your father would say, seeing his precious son with my hand around his throat, my cock inside him, all while he trembles and begs to touch himself. Does he know that your pretty little cunt takes it so well?"

Silvyr stared at him, the sweet melody of whines and mewls continued to spill out of him. "More," Silvyr pleaded, and Brokil's grip around his neck tightened almost instinctively. "Stop talking and fuck me."

Growling low in his throat, Brokil slammed up into the prince, drawing forth a loud, unabashed cry from him. Words fell away, replaced with the wet slaps of flesh against flesh, and desperate grunts and groans. Every sound Silvyr let fall from those lips sent fire through Brokil's veins, his hips canting with Brokil's thrusts. Around his cock, Silvyr's cunt tightened and throbbed, the sinful wetness nearly making him dizzy. If he wasn't careful, this elf would make him cum before he could truly enjoy him. Fuck, he should have bedded this prince sooner.

Silvyr ran his pretty pink tongue along one of Brokil's tusks, and the orc squeezed his throat tighter, careful not to cut off his air as he thrust harshly into Silvyr. He claimed the boy's lips with his own, pressing his tongue deep in his mouth to taste the sweet nectar that was this flower. He groaned as he ground his hips deep inside the prince, greedy as he swallowed the desperate moan offered to him.

"Do you want to cum?" Brokil asked against Silvyr's lips. "Do you want me to make you cum again, pretty Little Flower?"

"Yes, please," Silvyr gasped, rocking his hips in a frantic search for that spot again. "Make me cum, I want it." Tears pooled at the edges of Silvyr's eyes, shimmering like emeralds in the sunlight.

"Beg for it. Show me how much you want it. Say ‘please sir,'" Brokil commanded, enunciating his demand with a sharp thrust. "Say ‘please, sir.'"

Silvyr had become a mess of mewls and moans, barely able to speak at all. "P-please…" He clenched around his cock, hips stuttering.

"Please what?" Another powerful thrust elicited a shameless groan as Silvyr's head lulled to the side.

"Please, sir!" Silvyr gasped, bucking his hips. "Please, sir! Please, please, please." His words spilled out through sobbing hiccups as the tears broke free and slid down his cheeks, desperate for his climax. Brokil could think of nothing sweeter.

"Such a good boy. Begging suits you more than lying." Brokil slid his hand down, pressing his fingers against Silvyr's swollen bud. The pitiful prince whimpered and thrust into his hand, seeking more friction. Brokil gave him a few swift strokes, rolling his clit between his fingers even as Silvyr writhed in his hold. "Cum for me, Little Flower."

Silvyr arched against him, gasping as thrust a final time into Brokil's hand. He came with a rush of slick around Brokil's cock, his entire body tense and tight and torturously hot, forcing a groan from the orc.

After the elf's crashing orgasm subsided, Brokil lifted his hand and set his fingers to Silvyr's lips. "Clean your mess," he said, showing no reprieve as he continued to thrust into the boy.

The moment Silvyr's soft pink tongue flicked out, running along the length of Brokil's palm, he clenched his teeth and let his own orgasm slam into him. He pulled out and away, collapsing on his calves as he released across Silvyr's back, painting him in strips of white.

They remained there, catching their breath while Brokil ran his thumbs in slow circles over Silvyr's hips, eyes roving the slender frame of this beautiful fucking elf. When his own breath fizzled into normalcy, Brokil leaned over the golden hued mess beneath him.

"Such a good boy," Brokil whispered, kissing along Silvyr's shoulder, smirking at the gooseflesh that rolled over his skin.

Carefully, slowly, Brokil lowered Silvyr back to the ground. "Stay put," he said, standing up and walking to his trunk.

Returning with a clean linen, Brokil knelt down, running the fabric along Silvyr's back, cleaning him of his seed. Silvyr shuddered under his touch, and gooseflesh covered every inch of his skin. Brokil took his time, taking great care to ensure he didn't miss a spot before rolling Silvyr onto his back and repeating the process between the boy's legs. Silvyr shuddered, shifting his legs further apart to let himself be cleaned.

"I'm a fool," Silvyr whispered, and when Brokil looked at him, he had his arm over his eyes, his lip pinched between his teeth.

Brokil said nothing as he finished cleaning him, taking his time to reach every spot. When he pulled the blanket over Silvyr, the elf still wouldn't look at Brokil and his entire body trembled. If he had been anyone else, any other lover, Brokil might have brought him to his cot to sleep. But this wasn't intimate. It was carnal. Done only to relieve their stress.

What other reason made sense?

When Brokil pulled his own blankets over his waist, he took one final glance at the elf, wondering if he would spend the entire night staring at the tarp above him.