Page 49 of The Warrior and the Monk

Anders leaned down and kissed his neck. His tongue slid along the line of Wilder's pulse. He slid a third finger into Wilder, prompting another strangled moan from Wilder's throat as he spread his legs wider, toes curling into the furs. The skin of his throat was flushed and sensitive. Wilder trembled as Anders's beard rubbed against it. He felt his own cock bob between his legs, spurting precum onto his stomach.

He babbled, "Please, please." Wilder untangled his hand from Anders's and gripped his thick, dark curls, yanking him away from his neck. For a moment he worried that he had been too rough, but Anders only growled in low, rumbling arousal. Wilder said, "Anders," and Anders lunged for him, his fingers leaving Wilder empty as he climbed atop the altar. His lips found Wilder's; his kisses were hungry, craving, covetous.

Wilder could feel the head of Anders's cock at his entrance. Since they had grown accustomed to one another, more often than not Anders entered him with some impatient eagerness and ease, as though he had always been meant to be inside Wilder. This time, however, Anders filled him slowly, steadily, inch by inch. Was this for their audience's benefit? Were they watching intently, waiting for the moment thatWilder took the entirety of his husband? Could they see Wilder stretching around his girth?

"Ah!" Wilder cried out as Anders sheathed himself fully inside him with one powerful thrust. There.

Suddenly nothing mattered but that Anders moved. Whimpering, Wilder wrapped his arms around Anders's broad shoulders. Anders rocked his hips with agonizingly slow, but precise, movements. His face was a mask of pleasure, his eyes closed, his mouth open, his lips wet with Wilder's spit. His breath came in hot, heavy pants against Wilder's ear.

Wilder wrote a plea along Anders's back.Harder, he said.Faster.

His husband moaned and, as always, did exactly what Wilder wanted. Anders fucked him like a wild animal, rutting with frantic, ragged breaths. Wilder spread his legs even wider in order to better accommodate him, keening with each deep, hard thrust of Anders's cock.

It was good. When wasn't it good? Anders knew how to wring every ounce of pleasure from Wilder's body. But there was a different pleasure here, too. He knew that they were still watching—the crowd—that they were seeing this most intimate part of their marriage. Every single soul was there to see just that—how their bodies, slick with sweat and oil and precum, moved together. How they touched and grabbed and squeezed at one another in desperation and with a longing that simply could not be sated. It was not enough, it would never be enough, if only Anders could stay inside him forever—

That was what they saw. That was what they heard. Anders atop of him, inside of him, the tangle of their limbs, the moans and grunts and cries, the wanting, the desire.

The very thought of that was what pushed Wilder over the edge of pleasure. Nails digging into Anders's back, his entire body tensing, Wilder came with a wail, coming between themin a hot, sticky mess. Throughout that wave of bliss, Anders chased his own release, gasping, thrusting, his eyes wild, his lips finding Wilder's, licking into his mouth, sucking on his tongue, swallowing his cries and whimpers, until his hips jerked and he slammed into Wilder one final time and spilled inside him, filling him.

He felt Anders's seed leaking from him, dripping from his legs and onto the furs. Wilder, dazed, had the sudden, inane realization that they would most likely not be putting these furs back into the cart. As though from a great distance he heard the crowd cheer—for them? For their performance? Or because they could now move on to the feast? Anders and his entire naked bulk was still resting on him, and Wilder was still just as naked and twice as debauched. He let out a laugh at the wonderful ridiculousness of it all.

Anders trailed kisses along his bare, sweaty body.It's time to dress for the wedding feast.

Finally, his lovely tunic! Wilder laughed again. "Yes," he murmured as Anders gathered him into his arms.

???

As Anders had promised, the tent was filled with flowers.

With a tenderness that made Wilder ache, Anders took a warm, wet rag in hand and gently wiped all the evidence of their exertion from Wilder's body. Long swipes of the cloth along his neck, his chest, the sticky mess on his stomach, the inside of his thighs, still slick with oil, his tender backside. Anders followed each brush of the rag with a kiss.

Wilder squirmed. "That tickles," he said.

Anders asked,Are you well?

"I am." He didn't feel as he usually did after they made love—instead of the desire to sink into the warm bed of furs and sleep in Anders's arms, Wilder felt awake, energized.

Your people do not have that part of the ceremony,Anders pressed.

Wilder raised his knee slightly and his husband took the chance to mouth at his thighs once more. Wilder tugged at his hair so that he would look up and see him say,Your people do. Did I do well?

A fearsome growl left Anders's throat.Do you doubt yourself? You were—Anders stroked his hips.You were perfect. Everyone saw how perfect you are. How beautiful. How lucky I am, that you accepted me.

How could he say such things, when it was Anders who had given Wilder—everything? A life outside the monastery. The clothes that Wilder wore, the house that he slept in, the garden that he tended, the animals that he cared for—Anders had given them all to him.

No, that wasn't quite right. Anders had shared everything he had with Wilder, including himself, with only the hope that Wilder would share a bit of himself in return.

How lucky Wilder was, that Anders had seen him on the shore that day!

He told Anders just that. When Anders's eyes grew wet with tears of joy, it was Wilder's turn to take a bit of cloth and wipe his husband's face.

When they were both clean and their eyes dry, they dressed. Each set of clothes were neatly folded on a blanket, the result of all of Kirk's hard work. Beautiful wedding clothes, skillfully made, the finest Wilder had ever seen. His was a tunic the blue of the deep ocean, trimmed with gold thread, with a belt of yellow and red. Anders's tunic was not the dark green of the forest as Wilder had expected, but the bright green of new springgrass. Wilder admired the color as he held the tunic in his hands, and admired it even more when Anders pulled it on. How could he have ever thought that it would be plain!

"It suits you," Wilder said. "All your tunics are either brown or gray or black. But look at how handsome you are! At the next market day we should buy some bolts of cloth to make you a new wardrobe. I must ask Kirk where he found this green cloth."

As was usual when he was excited, he spoke rapidly and in his native tongue. However, Anders seemed to understand him just fine, because he frowned as he tied his belt around his waist and said,This is a special occasion.Then, at Wilder's crestfallen expression, added with a sigh,We will talk about it later.

Wilder beamed. His smile grew as Anders helped him dress, smoothing his tunic and tying the belt around Wilder's waist.

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