Page 98 of The War of Four Winters

By the time he finished, the water had begun to cool, but I felt more myself than I had since my capture. Clean, warm, and most importantly, no longer alone.

We dried each other with the soft towels provided, though the task quickly transformed from practical to something else entirely. My hand slowed as I traced the towel across his chest, lingering over the familiar planes of muscle and subtle scars that told the story of his life before me. His breath hitched when my fingers grazed his nipple, the simple touch awakening something primal beneath our exhaustion.

"Ruith," he whispered.

I let the towel fall forgotten to the floor as I pulled him closer. Our kiss began gently, a reaffirmation of connection rather than passion, but quickly deepened as weeks of separation and days of fear ignited between us. His mouth opened under mine, tongue seeking entry that I gladly granted. My hands slid down the smooth skin of his back, still warm and damp from the bath, to cup the firm curve of his ass.

He pressed against me with urgent need, our bodies crashing together with none of the careful gentleness from moments before. I bit his lower lip hard enough to draw a gasp, then soothed the sting with my tongue. His response was immediate and fierce, teeth sinking into the junction of my neck and shoulder, marking me with a possessiveness that made my cock throb against his hip.

"Fuck," I growled as his hand slipped between us to grip my length, his fingers wrapping around me with perfect pressure. "I need you. Now."

"You have me," he panted, his own cock rutting against my thigh, leaving slick trails of pre-cum on my skin. "Every part of me."

I pinned him against the wall beside the bed, lifting him easily. His legs wrapped around my waist as I ground against him, the friction of our cocks sliding together, drawing desperate sounds from us both. His head fell back, exposing the length of his throat, still bearing the faint scars from his collar. I attacked the sensitive skin there, sucking hard marks that would bloom purple by morning, a declaration of ownership more honest than any formal document.

"More," he demanded, his hands clawing at my back, nails digging half-moons into my skin that fired every nerve ending. "Harder."

I reached between us, taking both our cocks in my hand, the slide eased by our combined wetness. His entire body shuddered at the contact, his hole clenching against my fingers as my other hand moved lower, teasing his entrance with deliberate pressure. He keened when I pushed just the tip of one finger inside him, his body arching to take me deeper.

"The bed," I managed between harsh breaths, "or I'll fuck you against this wall."

"Either," he gasped, his pupils blown wide with desire. "Both. I don't care. Just don't stop touching me."

We stumbled toward the bed, still locked together, neither willing to surrender contact even for a moment. As we fell onto the soft blankets, his thighs spread wider. I moved lower, marking a trail of bites down his chest, his abdomen, his hip bones, until I reached the straining length of his cock. I took him deep in one motion, the taste of him sharp and familiar on my tongue. His hands fisted in my hair, tight enough to bring tears to my eyes, the exquisite mix of pleasure and pain sending blood rushing to my already aching cock.

I worked him with my mouth, tongue tracing the sensitive underside while my fingers continued their exploration of his entrance. His hips bucked up involuntarily, seeking more of the wet heat surrounding him. I pulled back, drawing a frustrated groan from him.

"Oil," I murmured, glancing around the unfamiliar room.

Elindir reached toward the bedside table, fumbling until his fingers closed around a small vial. "Here," he gasped, pressing it into my palm.

The oil was scented with exotic herbs I didn't recognize—some Craiggybottom trade good from distant shores, no doubt. I coated my fingers liberally, returning to my position between his thighs. This time I took my time, circling his entrance with teasing pressure before slowly pressing one finger inside.

The tight heat of him clenched around me, his body both resisting and inviting deeper penetration. I watched his face as I added a second finger, stretching him carefully despite the urgency thrumming through us both. His copper hair spread across the pillows like flame, his eyes closed in concentration as he adjusted to the intrusion.

"Look at me," I commanded, curling my fingers to find that spot inside him that made coherent thought impossible.

His eyes flew open, pupils blown wide, as his entire body arched off the bed. "Fuck!" he cried out, hands clutching the bedsheets with white-knuckled intensity.

"That's it," I encouraged, adding a third finger while maintaining the same relentless pressure against his prostate. "Let me hear you."

Elindir was always vocal during sex, a trait I cherished. After weeks of wondering if I'd ever hear his voice again, the sounds he made now were more precious than any music. His moans and gasping pleas filled our chamber as I stretched him open, preparing him for what we both desperately needed.

"Enough," he growled finally, reaching for me with impatient hands. "I need you inside me. Now."

I withdrew my fingers, drawing a shudder from him at the sudden emptiness. Coating my length with the remaining oil, I settled between his thighs, positioning myself at his entrance. For a moment, I paused, taking in the sight of him spread beneath me—flushed skin gleaming with sweat, copper hair wild against the pillows, eyes dark with desire. Alive. Here. Mine.

"Ruith," he urged, hips shifting restlessly. "Please."

Holding his gaze, I pushed forward in one long, slow thrust until I was fully seated inside him. The sensation was overwhelming—tight heat gripping me, the flutter of his internal muscles as he adjusted to my size, the raw intimacy of our connection. I’d had him countless times before, but this felt different. Sacred, somehow. A reaffirmation of life after facing death.

"I love you," I whispered against his lips as I began to move, setting a rhythm that spoke of reverence rather than just desire.

"I know," he gasped, his hands traveling up my back to tangle in my hair. "I've always known."

Our bodies moved together with practiced synchronicity, finding the perfect rhythm that had always existed between us, even in the darkest times. I shifted slightly, changing the angle to hit just the right spot with each thrust, drawing curses and pleas from his lips in equal measure.

His legs wrapped around my waist, pulling me deeper as his hands moved restlessly across my skin, mapping my body as if ensuring I was truly there, truly whole. I captured his mouth in a kiss that was more claim than tenderness, teeth and tongues battling for dominance while our bodies continued to move.

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