Chapter Thirty-Two: Give and Take

Osmund woke the next morning in the widow’s house, warm and frustrated.

The last thing he remembered—they’d just gotten back from town, and he was flopping back against his bedding, trying to wrap his arms, legs, whatever he could manage around Cemil as they kissed, anything to keep him from leaving. He wanted to return the favor from that thrilling back-alley encounter. Above all he wanted more. His bared skin. His hands. His lips, everywhere. What he sounded like when he was close to the edge. What his face looked like, mindless with pleasure. Heavens.

A shaky breath escaped Osmund in the present, resignedly slipping a hand beneath his drawers and palming himself as he noticed Cemil’s empty (but slept-in) cot. It didn’t come as a surprise. He couldn’t remember if he’d ever been first to awake in all this time. The Meskato prince was generous, letting him sleep in like this.

Too generous.

Why did he seem so singularly focused on Osmund’s pleasure at the neglect of his own? It was like he didn’t want to be touched. Is that why he’d laughed gently and told Osmund to sleep, then left him there alone on his back, willing and eager?

Or he knew I’d wake Sakina and our host, Osmund thought with a fresh rush of embarrassment. He didn’t even want to imagine that the innocent citizens of Kaliany might have heard him on the streets last night, moaning and whimpering and burying his fingers in Cemil’s hair, a few short strides the only difference between their private tryst and a public spectacle. Cemil seemed to enjoy Osmund’s lack of self-control; he was starting to suspect the Meskato prince was a bit of an exhibitionist. Still, disturbing the ladies of the house was probably his limit.

Osmund groaned, his hand continuing its work, then chewed his lip and listened carefully. Except for the wind blowing through the rafters of the old house, it was completely silent. Cemil and Sakina were already out by this time, and the widow typically spent her days in town. He was alone.

His desire swelled up again, so powerful it hurt. He would willingly debase himself in any way he could imagine if Cemil asked it, yet for the first time in his life, here was a man who didn’t want Osmund to pleasure or service him. Instead, he apparently thrived on letting him sleep in, and ensuring that he ate enough, and making him feel good, with his hands and his voice and his…mouth.

Oh, that mouth!

With just a little help from these memories, Osmund’s back arched, his whole body shuddering. It felt like an eternity before he came back to himself.

I’m being greedy again, he knew as he got dressed and tied back his hair, attaching the useless saber to his hip. When it came to Cemil, he never stopped wanting more, more, more. But then, he was only a man! It was natural that he wanted to touch, to explore, to see the effect his body could have on another.

Sex was supposed to be an act of give-and-take between two people, after all. Isn’t that what his romance novels were fond of declaring?

Osmund had just pulled on his boots and thrown open the door to greet the day when he nearly ran smack into Nienos’ hulking form.

The Tolmishman reeled, barely catching himself in time as he stared up at the orc in bewilderment. “Nienos?!” he exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”

“Ah, little Tolmish,” Nienos beamed. “Just good timing. I arrive only now. About to knock.”

What a shameless liar he was! He’d been obviously loitering several steps from the door with his arms crossed. Osmund’s mind worked, and his frown deepened.

“You…were sent here to keep an eye on me,” he concluded, appalled. Nienos only laughed, scarcely bothering to deny it.

“What? Ha ha! Talking nonsense. Anyway, you want make rounds with us?”

Osmund sighed horribly, catching his forehead with one hand as his face reddened. He wondered if this was Cemil’s or Sakina’s doing, or perhaps both. “Alright,” he agreed weakly. “Let’s go.”

They found the other mercenaries who supplemented Cemil’s army—Gudrun, Ratface, and two others that Osmund knew by face—standing in the town square, kicking a woven grass ball back and forth with some village kids. This wasn’t like any “guard duty” that Osmund was familiar with.

“Heads up, Tolm,” Gudrun shouted as she sent the ball flying in his direction. Osmund instinctively cowered, hands flying in front of his face as the ball bounced harmlessly off his wrists. He heard the titter of the local kids laughing at him and turned even redder.

“Good reflex,” Nienos said brightly, as if what had just happened was praiseworthy in any way. “If this was battle and you have shield, very nice block.”

Osmund gave him a sour look as he dropped his hands. He kicked the ball back to the giggling children, who instantly forgot him and went back to their game. Watching them play without a care in the world, he couldn’t help but smile.

The two of them ended up getting roped into the action before long, exchanging the little ball back and forth around the circle, making loud exclamations whenever it got trapped under a cart or beneath the feet of a passerby, or a donkey. Their little group was probably pretty fearsome to look at—Nienos, huge and orcish, with his throwing axes; Gudrun, tall and lithe, with her spear. Then there was Ratface and his array of knives, and the two others—K-something and K-something—a quiet brother and sister pair in their mid-twenties with ice and fire magic respectively. Even Osmund might’ve seemed intimidating: a foreigner with a sword strapped to his hip. But the Anshan children weren’t frightened at all.

“Alright, that’s enough. I’m tired of you bunch smelling like a gryphon’s rotten asshole,” Gudrun declared, addressing her squadmates (in Meskato words that these innocent ears hopefully couldn’t understand) after they’d been at their game a while. “Let’s take a bath.”

Nienos whooped, Ratface grinned, the brother and sister made quiet grunts of agreement. Osmund’s ears perked up. “There’s a bathhouse here?” He was beginning to feel a bit rank himself.

“We’ll be using nature’s baths,” Gudrun answered jocularly. “The river. Come on then.” She tagged in a group of soldiers to take their place on watch.

Osmund tried to get out a goodbye to the children—they were at the age when they needed good manners modeled for them—but they’d already closed ranks again, their erstwhile playmates forgotten. He trailed closely behind the mercenaries as they ambled towards the stream. Gooseflesh was raising on his arms. He knew there was a river running beside town, but the idea of wading into it, in this weather, at this altitude…! “Won’t it be freezing cold?” he dared to ask, not surprised when they laughed at him.

“Bitta cold’s good for the heart,” Ratface rasped, non-credibly. “Makes you tougher. Do you some good.”

“Don’t worry,” Gudrun laughed. “I’m sure Kasri can heat a spot for you, Valcrest.”

The fire magic sister lifted her head and nodded. Osmund blushed. “Um, thanks.”

They reached the river’s edge, and without hesitation the others started stripping off their clothes, leaving them in careless piles on the rocks and submerging their naked bodies in the water before Osmund had even finished untying his belt. It wasn’t like he was especially shy about nudity, but in the end, he was a Tolmish prince! He couldn’t help but squirm at their total lack of shame.

His slowness was a dire mistake. The others all stood in the water and watched him expectantly as he fiddled with his laces. “What’s wrong, little Tolmish!” Nienos called out.

“Think you’ve got something we haven’t seen before?” taunted Gudrun obnoxiously.

His face flushing scarlet, Osmund yanked his remaining garments off with a speed to rival even the most brazen of itinerant mercenaries, and marched into the water, determinedly avoiding their eyes. It was cold! He forgot his embarrassment as he forced himself in until the water tickled his ribs. He’d gotten too used to the luxury of Meskato steam rooms.

The woman called Kasri stepped closer. As promised, she lifted her hands, which hummed with the warm glow of magic. Some of the chill lifted from the surrounding water. “Thank you,” Osmund said with a gratified sigh.

As he spoke, he tried to look anywhere but at her bare breasts, which peeked just above the waterline. It wasn’t like he’d never seen a naked woman before; this was all just…strange. He prayed Kasri’s brother knew enough about him to be assured he was harmless! (From the man’s frosty gaze, that wasn’t a sure bet.)

“T-this feels nice,” Osmund said quickly, sinking into the warm water and trying to distract himself. It wouldn’t stay this comfortable for long, but the current was just slow enough that he might be sure of a few good minutes, hopefully while his body finished adjusting to the temperature. He began to relax. “So um…how long have you all been traveling together?”

“Me and Rat go way back,” Gudrun said. She’d let her long hair out of its braid, and was nearly unrecognizable with it cascading over her lean shoulders. “Nienos turned up in town last year looking for a contract. Kasri and Keldin too. Everyone knows there’s plenty of work to go around in the empire, and no shortage of rich princes in need of big armies.”

“And…what made you pick Cemil?”

This time, it was Nienos who answered. “Heard he pay on time.” His tone carried a shrug.

Osmund’s eyes, which had drifted shut, shot open. “That’s it?”

“Can tell a lot about a man by whether he settles his accounts,” Ratface added sagely. The others nodded.

“Heavens,” Osmund said, frowning, as he ran the water through his hair (and wished for something to lather it with). “I hoped you’d all have a reason that was slightly less…self-interested. But after all you are mercenaries, I suppose.”

“Sorry. I say money?” Nienos had a crafty note in his voice. “We pick him of course because he is number one most handsome.” Osmund made sure he got a face-full of tepid river water for it.

“Ah, Valcrest here can answer an interesting question for us, yeah?” Gudrun was grinning in a way that spelled trouble. “What’s the real reason the man doesn’t bathe with everyone else?”

The Tolmishman stopped. His arms lowered. “…You’ve noticed, then?” Ever since he started work in the governor’s mansion, he’d never once seen Cemil in the public baths. Not here on the campaign, either. If others had taken note of the same thing, it surely wasn’t a strange coincidence. (And he didn’t stink—at least, not more than anyone else.)

“We have couple theory,” Nienos said, shooting a look at Gudrun. “I say is stupid, but: she think maybe, evil sword’s magic leaves scars and damage all over his body. Doesn’t want others to see.”

Osmund’s eyes widened as he considered the possibility. It would explain the one-sided nature of their encounters, as well. “Uh…”

“Maybe he has no pecker,” Ratface said in his scrungy little voice.

“That’s stupid,” Kasri muttered.

“Hell do you know? I knew a cheat in Wandiry who got caught marking cards. They cut his pecker clean off.”

“Princes don’t go around getting their peckers cut off,” Gudrun said. “Well, Valcrest?”

A furiously blushing Osmund was saved from having to admit he couldn’t answer; Kasri’s brother the ice mage suddenly yelped and jumped almost entirely out of the water. The other mercs turned, instantly doubled over in laughter.

“Eel up your butt, Keldin?”

The man’s face was pink, in contrast to his pale grey hair. “There was a fish,” he said in his defense.

The others continued to howl with amusement. Even Osmund cracked a smile.

Privately, he continued mulling it over, even when the others moved on. He didn’t know what to make of their theories, but—

Could it be that somehow, maybe, whatever he looked like, Cemil was worried that Osmund would reject him?

Osmund resolved to let him know he’d be hot for him no matter what, even if he had a bad tattoo or a weird growth or a small prick, when a blood-curdling screech filled the air. It wasn’t Keldin this time.

Without delay, the mercenaries dashed from the water up to the shoreline, all their dangling bits on display.

“A gryphon?” Osmund squawked in terror as he gathered up his own clothes, yanking them over his body until they were as soaked-through as he was. “It sounds so close!”

The others had already shoved their limbs into their gear and were charging up the riverbed. “That noise came from town,” Gudrun cried. “Aim to kill!”