Page 48 of The Warrior and the Monk

What?

Take me as you do at night, when the fire is warm and when the stars are out. Just like when we are at home.

Anders snarled.I will not force you.

It is not forced. I want to. I want to be your husband. I want to complete this ceremony. I am a little afraid, but—Wilder smiled at Anders.If you are here with me, then I will be fine. And... I would like for others to see me as yours.

Anders stood there for a very long moment. Then placed his hands on Wilder's shoulders and kissed his cheek.I will care for you.He handed Wilder the knife.Here. Disrobe me first. Anders opened his arms wide and gave Wilder an encouraging smile.

Wilder swallowed. Gripping the knife in his hand, Wilder approached his husband. He did not look at their audience, watching intently. Instead, he did his best to focus on Anders, standing there, waiting.

Where to start? Wilder swallowed. He didn't want to cut Anders. tugged at Anders's tunic so that the fabric was stretched taut and then, carefully, tore into it with the blade, from the bottom of the tunic to just below Anders's chest. He stepped back, scrutinizing his work.

That's it,Anders said.Like gutting a fish.

"Anders, don't say that!" Wilder said with a laugh. A bit of the nervousness left him. He set the knife on the altar. He took the two sections of Anders's tunic and yanked, ripping the fabric apart until the tunic hung on Anders's shoulders like a jacket. He wore nothing underneath; his chest was bare. Wilder watched the rise and fall of his pecs with each breath. Anders's eyes were dark with want. Wilder licked his lips. "Take it off," he said.

Anders shrugged the ruined tunic off his shoulders and let it fall to the ground. Their audience could see the magnificent muscles of his back, so broad and so strong, but Wilder rested his eyes on the hair that trailed down Anders's chest to his belly and lower still. Wilder slid down to his knees and pressed his lips to Anders's soft stomach. He heard Anders's sharp intake of breath, felt him shiver.

Emboldened by his reaction, Wilder saw to Anders's breeches with more confidence. They were laced at the sides; he pulled them loose so that they fell off Anders's hips, revealing his thick cock hanging between his legs. Once more, Wilder took the knife and carefully, carefully, cut the breeches away from Anders's legs.

Wilder now understood better the appeal of this. Anders was so handsome—Wilder delighted in his form, the shape of his body against his own—and here were members of the town,watching and observing what Wilder saw every morning, every evening. They saw and knew that Anders belonged to Wilder. And now—Wilder stood, trembling.

Now it was his turn.

Anders said,I will be gentle.

With one swift movement, Anders cut the robes from Wilder's body. They were once the only clothes that Wilder had ever owned. Now there he was, completely naked before a sea of eyes, with the remains of his robes in a puddle of worn, rough cloth at his feet.

Wilder was suddenly reminded of shearing sheep and laughed. "I'm fine," he said as Anders gave him a concerned look. He shivered again. This was different from bathing naked in the river. There he was out in the open and under the sun, but no one had ever actually seen him. Now in the dusk and flickering candlelight every freckle dotting Wilder's skin was visible to all gathered. They looked at him and knew that Anders's hands roamed his body, that his tongue had licked and lapped at every part of him. He felt brazen. He felt shy. His heart pounded in his chest. He dared not look at anyone but his husband. Anders was the only one who truly mattered in this ceremony, anyway.

Anders moved in front of him, then, and even if Wilder wanted to look at another he couldn't, his husband was so broad. Anders shielded him with no self-consciousness about his own body. He had no reason to be—he was strength personified, built like a hero from tales of old. But when he squeezed Wilder's bare hips and guided him so that he reclined onto the altar, his back against the furs, Anders was so very gentle.

This isn't so different from home, Wilder thought. The candle light even mimicked the flames from the hearth.

Beautiful,said Anders. He pushed Wilder's knees up to his chest and dipped his fingers into the bowl of oil.

This was it. Wilder was naked on an altar before half the town. They would all see his husband prepare him—how his body easily took Anders's thick fingers. It was an intoxicating, heady thought, but it was also—

Wilder's entire body heated with both arousal and embarrassment as Anders's oiled fingers pressed against his rim. Wilder gasped.

His husband's other hand moved along his stomach, spelling out a silent observation.You're tense.

Wilder's nails dug into the furs. "S-sorry," he whispered.

Relax,Anders said.Relax for me. I'm here. I'll take care of you.

He took a deep breath and let go of the furs, reaching instead for Anders's hand resting above his belly button. He laced their fingers together; Anders gave his hand a squeeze. Wilder took another breath. He could see only the sky, turning from blue to pink and red and yellow with slowly setting sun, and his husband, covering him like a shield and a blanket both, protective and comforting. What could everyone see but Anders tending to him with such affection?

Some of the tension in Wilder's body dissipated. As he lay against the furs, taking slow, steady, deep breaths, he felt Anders's finger slip past his rim, entering him, brushing against his inner walls, sending a jolt of pleasure coursing through his body. "Oh!"

The crowd murmured in appreciation. Anders did not stop his ministrations, but Wilder saw his chest puffed out, proud as a rooster, pleased to have elicited such a reaction in front of their audience.

Yes, this was what it was all about, Wilder supposed. He turned his eyes toward the sky once more, embarrassed and giddy and aroused and then moving his hips to meet two of Anders's fingers now preparing him for his cock. To showtheir love, to put it on display. Everyone would know just how Anders's touch delighted him, how skillful he was at making Wilder gasp and cry and wail, how when they joined together it was like they were a single soul sharing two heartbeats, two bodies becoming one.

Underneath the buzzing pleasure in his head Wilder heard only the barest of chatter. How could such a crowd be so silent? All Wilder could hear was his own rapid breathing and the wet, sinful noise of Anders's fingers pumping in and out of Wilder's hole.

"Ah—" He squirmed into the furs, moaning. "Ah, Anders—"

---