Page 32 of The Warrior and the Monk

May I?Anders asked.

He nodded. "Yes, Anders. I feel—it's good."

Anders's gaze softened. He nuzzled Wilder's nose with his, smiling when Wilder laughed. Palms on either side of Wilder's head, fingers clenched into the furs, Anders began to move his hips in the slightest, smallest of motions that still left Wilder breathless. "Oh," he said. "Anders."

Lips against his ear, Anders murmured in his deep, rough voice, "Wilder."

His first, true thrust made Wilder cry out. "Ah! That—" Unable to find the words, Wilder instead kissed his jaw. Seemingly encouraged, Anders thrust again, groaning into the crook of Wilder's neck, beard rubbing against his skin. "Like that—please, just like that—"

Wilder could barely wrap his legs around him. Every time Wilder thought he'd successfully hooked one ankle over the other, Anders thrust into him again, sending him flailing, scrabbling to keep hold of him, until finally Wilder simply spread his wider and lifted his hips and raked his nails along Anders's back as his husband took him with single-minded fervor. Wilder felt at once both light-headed and incredibly tense. Anders's cock filled him, while his own cock was trapped between their stomachs. Completely abandoning himself to pleasure, Wilder rutted against Anders's bulk, chasing his release.

He was close—he was so close. Wilder repeated a prayer of his own making, "Anders, Anders, oh God, Anders—Ah!" He screamed, clutching at Anders as he shivered through his orgasm, his spend smearing on their stomachs as Anders continued to move. Even through a haze of pleasure, Wilder could tell that his husband was also near his climax. A bead of sweat rolled down Anders's cheek and fell from his jaw, splattering onto Wilder's throat. He panted, his mouth open and wet. His gaze was fixed on Wilder's flushed, bare form. His hands were curled into fists, the muscles in his arms tense. Helost his rhythm as he alternated between the sharp bursts of pleasure from short, quick snaps of his hips and the indulgence of deep, languid thrusts.

"Finish inside me," Wilder said, and Anders blinked down at him and pulled him into a rough embrace and moaned, loudly and desperately, as he filled Wilder with his cum.

This, too, was a husband's duty, Wilder thought as Anders rolled them to their sides so that his back was pressed to Anders's chest. It was a very welcome one.

Once he'd caught his breath, Wilder turned, brushing a lock of sweaty hair from Anders's face. "Good?" he asked.

Anders kissed him.

He knew that to mean,Good.

Chapter Twelve

Wilder woke up well-rested and warm, wrapped in Anders's arms.

It'd been the best night's sleep he'd ever had.

Slowly, he opened his eyes and saw the day shining through the longhouse entrance, sunlight settling over his skin like a kiss and birdsong drifting to his ears. He wriggled in the furs until he and Anders were facing one another, and then, gently, carefully, Wilder tapped the tip of his nose with his forefinger.

Anders's brow furrowed. He mumbled something—it was low and raspy still, but in his sleep he spoke with ease, while awake words formed more hesitantly on his lips—and Wilder smiled and tapped his nose more insistently. Anders shook himself awake with a snort. He clumsily grabbed Wilder's hand and Wilder could see him taking in his surroundings with every slow blink. Next to the hearth, in bed, with—

He smiled, bringing Wilder's hand to his lips to kiss his fingers. Good morning, he said.

"Good morning," Wilder replied. "Did you sleep well?"

Another kiss was pressed to his neck as Anders answered with a deep, rumbling growl. One large, rough hand slid down his back to cup his backside. Between them, Anders's arousal stirred against Wilder's thigh. He blushed. What a strange and wonderful thing, to be someone's husband and to be desired so!What a strange and wonderful thing to spend the morning in a lover's embrace! There were chores to be done, but there were always chores to be done, and they would still be there whether or not he and Anders enjoyed one another's company, so Wilder laid in the bed of furs and very contentedly waited for more of his husband's hands, his lips, his mouth.

???

Afterwards, it was with a delicious kind of soreness that Wilder went about with his daily chores. A satisfied exhaustion, a happy ache—what remained of Anders's attention, besides the mark on his neck where Anders had sucked a bruise. He'd been apologetic in the afterglow. As they laid there, sweaty and panting once more, Anders had moaned in dismay at the sight of the tender, reddened skin and seemed so upset with himself that Wilder had to reassure him that it did not hurt and all was well and he quite liked it, besides. He liked having it there on his neck, a visible reminder of Anders's ardor, and that he and Anders belonged to one another.

The animals, for all their familiarity with their surroundings, were indifferent to the change in the household's atmosphere. To them, life simply carried on as it always had, with or without the presence of humans in the early hours of the day. They greeted Anders and Wilder’s late morning appearance with an assortment of soft bleats and clucks, some of the goats bounding excitedly in their direction, while Avery, the rooster, seemed put off by the disruption of routine. Avery was the sort of bird that found any minor inconvenience an affront to his dignity, whether it was the absence of a morning treat or the goats mucking about in his space. As Wilder tossed weeds toward the goats, watching them devour them with enthusiasm, he couldn't help but feel a slight appreciation for their insatiableappetites. If only they’d had goats at the monastery, he thought. The chores there would have been so much simpler. Instead of hauling water from the well and lugging sacks of grain, the goats could have taken care of most of the plants.

A few more weeds landed by his side, and he glanced up, pausing as the sound of footsteps interrupted his musings. It was the kind of sound that didn’t belong to any of the regular folk—strangers often carried themselves differently, walking with a purpose but yet also a sense of unfamiliarity in the air around them. Wilder squinted against the morning sunlight, looking toward the road where a man was approaching. The stranger was hooded, his cloak draped loosely around him, and he carried a sturdy walking stick in one hand, a large satchel hanging from his shoulder.

Wilder rose to his feet, wiping his hands on his trousers. As he did, he caught sight of the goats, who had noticed the stranger approaching and, much to his amusement, had already begun charging at him with that distinct, joyful energy that only goats seemed capable of. The animals—determined to create chaos—rushed the stranger, their bleats loud and their tiny hooves pounding the ground.

The man reacted immediately, swinging his walking stick wildly in the air, barking at the goats, "Back, beasts! Away with you!" His voice was sharp and laced with frustration as he wielded the stick like a weapon, trying to ward them off.

Wilder couldn’t help but laugh, but it wasn’t the time for that. Rushing toward the stranger, he quickly stepped between the goats and the man, delivering a firm smack to the animals' rumps. "Go on, now! Go cause trouble somewhere else!" he called out, his tone stern and authoritative. The goats, recognizing the familiar sound of Wilder's voice, retreated reluctantly, but not without giving the stranger one last round ofcurious sniffs and nips before they turned their attention toward the chickens.

Wilder gave a quick glance back at the man, feeling somewhat embarrassed for the goats’ antics. "I apologize for them," he said, his voice softening, "They kept escaping the pen, and now we just let them wander around. Can I help you with something? Are you here to see Anders?"

The stranger paused, regarding Wilder with a look that seemed to assess him. He shook his head, pushing back his hood, revealing a sharply angled face and brown eyes that studied him with a hint of suspicion. His short brown hair was tousled, as if he’d been traveling for some time. "You’re Anders's husband? Wilder?" The words came out curt, clipped, as if he wasn’t accustomed to giving pleasantries.

Wilder blinked, slightly thrown by the bluntness of the question but nodded all the same. "I am," he confirmed, a little wary. He wasn’t used to strangers arriving unannounced and certainly wasn’t expecting anyone.

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