Volume 10: The Trip to Harbour
Chapter 24
Equals
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
When Tilrey woke up, he was alone in bed. The glare through the blinds told him the sun was already high in the sky.Gersha had left two painkillers and a glass of water on the nightstand, but the throbbing in Tilrey’s ankle was manageable, and he didn’t want that fuzzy, disengaged feeling today. When Gersha came back, he’d ask for something less potent.Potent. As he sat up, yesterday evening came back in a rush of remembered sensations. Gersha’s tongue through the briefs, wet and supple, strange and familiar at once. The heat of his tight, eager throat—Tilrey’s cock hardened again, pressing against the fabric. No time for that. He had to talk to Egil and make sure Gavril wasn’t stashed in a cell somewhere.He swung his legs to the floor, his head swimming. Put his weight on his good foot, then pressed experimentally on his bad one. Ow, fuck. But the wheelchair was close enough to hop to. He settled himself in it and draped a blanket over his embarrassingly exposed groin.From there it was a short trip down the hall to the shared bathroom, which Gersha had shown him last night. Imagine proud Gersha using a collective bathroom! And taking orders from Egil!True, last night Gersha had been surprisingly even-tempered, not to mention, well, flexible. As Tilrey wheeled himself back to the bedroom, a blush spread over his face at the memory. Despite his best efforts to keep himself on track, he couldn’t quell the stubborn erection. Gersha had never been so abandoned with his mouth before.Of course, all that might be down to the shock of the reunion and the injury. People changed, but not that much. Soon enough the Councillor would be fuming and fretting about his dignity again. Malsha had advised Tilrey to treat Gersha like an equal, and last night Gersha had said, We’re the same now, but how could they ever be the same?Before he could touch it, the door swung open to reveal Gersha in the flesh, looking pale and keyed up. “Where were you?” he asked sharply.“Didn’t want to piss out the window.” Gersha was bossing him around again already, but at least he’d brought a pair of crutches. For a moment, Tilrey considered grabbing them and going in search of Egil right now. But his muscles protested, and his head spun, and he was grateful when Gersha helped him back into bed.“You don’t need to watch me every second I’m awake,” he said. “I won’t run off. Where’ve you been, anyway?” Gersha had gray bags under his bloodshot eyes, and his coverall emitted the faintest sour odor. “Haven’t you slept?”Gersha didn’t meet Tilrey’s eyes as he adjusted the pillows. “I was checking on your friends. No need to worry about them—they’re fine, and they’re together.”Thank everything green. Tilrey relaxed backward and let his eyes close—but a moment later, they popped open again. “Are they in detention? I need to go talk to Egil, to explain—”“Shh. It can wait.” Gersha settled on the mattress. Gentle fingers stroked Tilrey’s face, took hold of his chin. “Egil’s catching up on his sleep. So are Gavril and Krisha. And you need some breakfast.”“I don’t, I—” Then Gersha kissed him, and Tilrey couldn’t remember what he’d been about to say.The kiss started out timid and tentative, with Gersha flinching and advancing, trying first one angle and then another, as if Tilrey might break. Very quickly, though, Tilrey had had enough of that. He got a firm grip on Gersha’s shoulders, buried one hand in his hair, and devoured the soft mouth, probing it deeply with his tongue.After an instant of tension, Gersha’s body melted against his. Without opening his eyes, Tilrey let his free hand fall from Gersha’s shoulder to his hip. From there, it was an easy path to his groin.Already hard, Gersha gasped and caught hold of Tilrey’s wrist, capturing the errant hand. “You need to rest.”Tilrey opened his eyes into the sea-green ones. It all felt good, too good, but Gersha was right that this wasn’t the time. “No. I need to see Egil. Gersha, this is my tenth day since leaving Bettevy. My tracker’s been disabled, and so has Gavril’s. Albertine’s going to assume something happened to us. If we’re not back soon, she may start a search.”“Let her. The Southern Hearth was built with camouflage in mind.”Why was Gersha being so naïve? “This is Oslov, Gersha. Once they’re actually looking for something, they’ll find it. But if we’re back in a few days, she won’t have to start searching at all. We just have to get it through Egil’s paranoid head that it’s safe to let us leave.” He stopped as he saw what Gersha was holding—a safety razor. “Really? Now?”“Really.” Gersha had a slight twinkle in his eye. “I’ve kissed you, so now I’m going to fetch soap and water and shave you. Just as I threatened last night.”“I don’t remember that.” Tilrey waited while Gersha slipped out and returned with a small basin. He didn’t protest when Gersha sat down and began to pat soapy water onto his three-day growth of beard. But he did resume the argument: “We can’t let Oslov discover this place.”“And we won’t, love. Now, hold still, please.” Pinching Tilrey’s chin between thumb and forefinger, Gersha turned his head, picked up the razor, and shaved a careful swath down his cheek. “Oh yes,” he murmured, “much better. These people may be shirkers, but they aren’t shaggy-bearded Outers. We need you to be presentable, my love.”The distraction was frustrating. But the warm water was soothing, and Gersha wielded the razor like a tickling caress. Tilrey closed his eyes and relaxed into it, letting himself be prodded and turned. “Since when have you cared about being presentable for shirkers? Or about anything but dumping them in cells, for that matter?”Gersha started in on his chin. “I didn’t dump you in a cell when I found out.”“No.” It hurt even to remember, so Tilrey concentrated on not moving. “Tell me more about Gavril and Krisha. Don’t censor anything for me. Where are they, and how’d you get to them? Does Egil trust you?Gersha tipped him to the left. “If I tell you everything, will you promise to stay still so I don’t cut you? And not run off and try to pull Ranek out of bed?”“That depends on what you say.” But Tilrey did hold still as Gersha told him where he’d found Gavril last night and how he’d obtained the sergeant’s transfer to a better situation.By the time the story was finished, he was clean-shaven. He reached up to run fingers over his smooth cheeks and chin as he tried to absorb what seemed impossible. “But decoding those transmissions is treason.”Gersha arched a brow, looking almost amused. “Coming to Resurgence to find you was treason. Entering this settlement was treason.”“Not on the same level.” How could Gersha not see that?“I know you still look at me and see a Councillor, but that part of me is gone, Rishka. I can’t go back. I’ve made my peace with that.”Tilrey knotted his hand in Gersha’s curls and tugged the man’s face close, looking for signs of deceit or withholding in those clear eyes. Then he had another idea, and his gaze flew upward, around the edges of the room, taking note of the light fixtures. “Are they surveilling us?” he whispered.Gersha shook his head. “I checked while you were out.” He shifted so he was practically in Tilrey’s lap, his knee in a position that made Tilrey’s cock swell again, and touched his cheek. “You need to relax.”But Tilrey couldn’t relax. Despite everything he himself had done for the True Hearth, he was shocked by the idea of Gersha buying Gavril’s safety at such a price. “Coming here is one thing, but when you actively help these people, you cross a line.” He remembered exactly when he’d crossed that line himself: when he delivered the coordinates of the settlement to the True Hearth in Thurskein. He’d done it for his mom, for Dal, for all of them. “Why, Gersha? What made you do it?”Tilrey knew far too well how it felt to be imprisoned, isolated, and broken down to the point where you’d embrace your captor like a lover. But Gersha had only been here a few days. He appeared to be under no physical or mental coercion. Or was Tilrey missing something?“They haven’t hurt you or locked you up, have they, love?” he asked, his thumb stroking Gersha’s own unshaven cheek. “Whatever it is, you can tell me.”Gersha reddened, but didn’t pull away. “No! They treat me like a colleague. Until I saw the detention block last night, I didn’t even know people got locked up here.” The green eyes focused on Tilrey’s again, gentle but firm. “I’m not sure why you’re making me explain myself, considering. But . . . well, the sergeant and Krisha are your friends. And this place is my home, and your home, and theirs.”As Gersha spoke, his voice dropped to a near-whisper, and his eyes lowered, the long lashes brushing his cheek. Something swelled up through Tilrey’s chest and caught in his throat. Gersha had sacrificed his honor, his high-Upstart integrity, for a man he barely knew. And he’d done it to make Tilrey happy.Something was still swelling between Tilrey’s legs, too, and fuck it. All this talk was getting them nowhere. Maybe if he made Gersha come the way he should’ve last night, he’d get more frankness from him. Or maybe that was just an excuse. But his chest was still swelling with a warmth he couldn’t contain, and he might start weeping like a child if he couldn’t get closer, couldn’t get Gersha inside him.He pulled Gersha down on top of him and rutted up against his hip, one hand still in his hair, both their bodies tense and eager. When Gersha hardened, Tilrey grabbed hold and stroked him quickly to a state of aching readiness.Gersha moaned and arched his back. Then he buried his face in Tilrey’s neck and sucked it wetly, grazing it with his teeth, pausing only to whisper, “I want you.”“Have me, then.” Tilrey sat up just enough to tug off his briefs. He lay down again, carrying Gersha with him, and rolled backward, knees to chest, exposing himself. He was careful of his ankle, but its faint throb was no distraction from the engorged need between his legs. “Got any lube?”“I think so.” Gersha scrambled off him and rummaged in the nightstand. “But I don’t want to hurt you. I should be the one—”“No, sweetheart, no. Yesterday was perfect. Now I want you to fuck me—and not the sweet and tender way, either.”He tugged Gersha back down on top of him and kissed his lover’s throat, stroking Gersha’s cock with the other hand. More words came unbidden to his lips: “I want you to fuck me like you did right after I taught you how to fuck me, all those years ago when I first belonged to you. Like you’re starving and I’m a five-course dinner. Do it hard. Hold me down.” He ran a finger over Gersha’s lips, which opened and took him in. “Don’t think about my pleasure. Make me feel you balls-deep. Make me feel you tomorrow.”The words were making Gersha buck helplessly against Tilrey’s hip. When he reached for the lube, his trembling hands dropped it.“No worries, sweetheart.” Tilrey snatched the tube and eased himself backward and Gersha to one side. Knees in the air, he worked a slick finger into himself, then two, doing it with the brisk efficiency he’d learned from servicing men who had no interest in making it good for him.He’d used similar dirty talk on some of those men, but this was different—he meant it. Before he went back to thinking for both of them—because someone had to get them out of this mess—he wanted to surrender control for a while, wanted to be used. With a deliciously wanton shiver, he tossed the tube away and rolled his spine to hook his knees over Gersha’s shoulders.The first, abortive jab of Gersha’s cock made all Tilrey’s senses white out for a second. When he spoke again, it was in a growl: “I’m not walking you through this. I’m an invalid, for fuck’s sake. Take charge. Take me.”For an instant, Gersha looked ready to protest. Then his eyes filmed over and his pupils bloomed. With a moan, he grabbed hold of Tilrey’s hands, pressed them together above his head, and thrust into him.It was a quick, wild ride—or maybe a long one; Tilrey lost all sense of time. At first, Gersha’s thrusts were deep, heedless, and brutal, just as he’d demanded. Just as they’d been in their first months together, when Gersha first discovered how good it felt to claim someone with utter selfishness.Then Gersha drew back a little, as if remembering himself. He seized hold of Tilrey’s cock with one hand, still pinning his wrists above his head with the other, and angled his thrusts in that way that made Tilrey writhe and keen under him.“Harder,” Tilrey whispered when he was able to speak again.Head thrown back and eyes slitted, he remembered when he’d last made a similar request—in his dorm room in Redda, being fucked by that gruff, sweet engineer. He’d been so desperate to forget Gersha’s rejection. He hadn’t even wanted pleasure then, just punishment, though any intense sensation would do.The memory hovered in his head for an instant, evanescent as the light on the walls, and vanished. Gersha was here inside him, filling him. The pressure of his hand around Tilrey’s cock was teasing, then crushing, then unbearable—and just when Tilrey thought he’d burst from it, he came, rutting up into the grip, driving Gersha deeper into him.Gersha stopped moving for a few seconds, letting him ride it out. When Tilrey went lax at last, he released his hands and began to fuck him again in deep, slow, intimate strokes, burying his head against Tilrey’s collarbone, moaning a little each time his cock drove home. He came at last with a long, shuddering cry, his back arching, and pulled out and curled himself up on Tilrey’s chest.Tilrey rolled on his side, savoring the stretch in his martyred thigh muscles, and drew Gersha into his arms. Gersha was still dressed in that stupid coverall, and Tilrey wanted to peel it off him, but his own body felt waterlogged. It was all he could do to keep his eyes open as he pressed his lover against him, dimly conscious of the warm seed leaking down his thighs.“That’s exactly what I wanted,” he said.A hard fuck was something he’d often craved in Redda, but Gersha had usually pulled back, reluctant. Maybe here, where no kettle boys existed and no Levels separated them, it was different.Be his equal, Malsha had suggested, but the whole visit had brought home for Tilrey that you couldn’t erase the past. If Gersha imagined they could ever be at the same level, in any sense of the word, he was dreaming. Yet being here seemed to have set something free in him.Maybe he liked it.And then, at last, Tilrey’s pleasure-slowed brain reran the last thing Gersha had said before the tide of need carried them both away: This place is my home, and your home, and theirs.“You don’t just think we can’t leave here,” he murmured into Gersha’s neck. “You don’t want to leave.”
When Tilrey woke up, he was alone in bed. The glare through the blinds told him the sun was already high in the sky.
Gersha had left two painkillers and a glass of water on the nightstand, but the throbbing in Tilrey’s ankle was manageable, and he didn’t want that fuzzy, disengaged feeling today. When Gersha came back, he’d ask for something less potent.
Potent. As he sat up, yesterday evening came back in a rush of remembered sensations. Gersha’s tongue through the briefs, wet and supple, strange and familiar at once. The heat of his tight, eager throat—
Tilrey’s cock hardened again, pressing against the fabric. No time for that. He had to talk to Egil and make sure Gavril wasn’t stashed in a cell somewhere.
He swung his legs to the floor, his head swimming. Put his weight on his good foot, then pressed experimentally on his bad one. Ow, fuck. But the wheelchair was close enough to hop to. He settled himself in it and draped a blanket over his embarrassingly exposed groin.
From there it was a short trip down the hall to the shared bathroom, which Gersha had shown him last night. Imagine proud Gersha using a collective bathroom! And taking orders from Egil!
True, last night Gersha had been surprisingly even-tempered, not to mention, well, flexible. As Tilrey wheeled himself back to the bedroom, a blush spread over his face at the memory. Despite his best efforts to keep himself on track, he couldn’t quell the stubborn erection. Gersha had never been so abandoned with his mouth before.
Of course, all that might be down to the shock of the reunion and the injury. People changed, but not that much. Soon enough the Councillor would be fuming and fretting about his dignity again. Malsha had advised Tilrey to treat Gersha like an equal, and last night Gersha had said, We’re the same now, but how could they ever be the same?
Before he could touch it, the door swung open to reveal Gersha in the flesh, looking pale and keyed up. “Where were you?” he asked sharply.
“Didn’t want to piss out the window.” Gersha was bossing him around again already, but at least he’d brought a pair of crutches. For a moment, Tilrey considered grabbing them and going in search of Egil right now. But his muscles protested, and his head spun, and he was grateful when Gersha helped him back into bed.
“You don’t need to watch me every second I’m awake,” he said. “I won’t run off. Where’ve you been, anyway?” Gersha had gray bags under his bloodshot eyes, and his coverall emitted the faintest sour odor. “Haven’t you slept?”
Gersha didn’t meet Tilrey’s eyes as he adjusted the pillows. “I was checking on your friends. No need to worry about them—they’re fine, and they’re together.”
Thank everything green. Tilrey relaxed backward and let his eyes close—but a moment later, they popped open again. “Are they in detention? I need to go talk to Egil, to explain—”
“Shh. It can wait.” Gersha settled on the mattress. Gentle fingers stroked Tilrey’s face, took hold of his chin. “Egil’s catching up on his sleep. So are Gavril and Krisha. And you need some breakfast.”
“I don’t, I—” Then Gersha kissed him, and Tilrey couldn’t remember what he’d been about to say.
The kiss started out timid and tentative, with Gersha flinching and advancing, trying first one angle and then another, as if Tilrey might break. Very quickly, though, Tilrey had had enough of that. He got a firm grip on Gersha’s shoulders, buried one hand in his hair, and devoured the soft mouth, probing it deeply with his tongue.
After an instant of tension, Gersha’s body melted against his. Without opening his eyes, Tilrey let his free hand fall from Gersha’s shoulder to his hip. From there, it was an easy path to his groin.
Already hard, Gersha gasped and caught hold of Tilrey’s wrist, capturing the errant hand. “You need to rest.”
Tilrey opened his eyes into the sea-green ones. It all felt good, too good, but Gersha was right that this wasn’t the time. “No. I need to see Egil. Gersha, this is my tenth day since leaving Bettevy. My tracker’s been disabled, and so has Gavril’s. Albertine’s going to assume something happened to us. If we’re not back soon, she may start a search.”
“Let her. The Southern Hearth was built with camouflage in mind.”
Why was Gersha being so naïve? “This is Oslov, Gersha. Once they’re actually looking for something, they’ll find it. But if we’re back in a few days, she won’t have to start searching at all. We just have to get it through Egil’s paranoid head that it’s safe to let us leave.” He stopped as he saw what Gersha was holding—a safety razor. “Really? Now?”
“Really.” Gersha had a slight twinkle in his eye. “I’ve kissed you, so now I’m going to fetch soap and water and shave you. Just as I threatened last night.”
“I don’t remember that.” Tilrey waited while Gersha slipped out and returned with a small basin. He didn’t protest when Gersha sat down and began to pat soapy water onto his three-day growth of beard. But he did resume the argument: “We can’t let Oslov discover this place.”
“And we won’t, love. Now, hold still, please.” Pinching Tilrey’s chin between thumb and forefinger, Gersha turned his head, picked up the razor, and shaved a careful swath down his cheek. “Oh yes,” he murmured, “much better. These people may be shirkers, but they aren’t shaggy-bearded Outers. We need you to be presentable, my love.”
The distraction was frustrating. But the warm water was soothing, and Gersha wielded the razor like a tickling caress. Tilrey closed his eyes and relaxed into it, letting himself be prodded and turned. “Since when have you cared about being presentable for shirkers? Or about anything but dumping them in cells, for that matter?”
Gersha started in on his chin. “I didn’t dump you in a cell when I found out.”
“No.” It hurt even to remember, so Tilrey concentrated on not moving. “Tell me more about Gavril and Krisha. Don’t censor anything for me. Where are they, and how’d you get to them? Does Egil trust you?
Gersha tipped him to the left. “If I tell you everything, will you promise to stay still so I don’t cut you? And not run off and try to pull Ranek out of bed?”
“That depends on what you say.” But Tilrey did hold still as Gersha told him where he’d found Gavril last night and how he’d obtained the sergeant’s transfer to a better situation.
By the time the story was finished, he was clean-shaven. He reached up to run fingers over his smooth cheeks and chin as he tried to absorb what seemed impossible. “But decoding those transmissions is treason.”
Gersha arched a brow, looking almost amused. “Coming to Resurgence to find you was treason. Entering this settlement was treason.”
“Not on the same level.” How could Gersha not see that?
“I know you still look at me and see a Councillor, but that part of me is gone, Rishka. I can’t go back. I’ve made my peace with that.”
Tilrey knotted his hand in Gersha’s curls and tugged the man’s face close, looking for signs of deceit or withholding in those clear eyes. Then he had another idea, and his gaze flew upward, around the edges of the room, taking note of the light fixtures. “Are they surveilling us?” he whispered.
Gersha shook his head. “I checked while you were out.” He shifted so he was practically in Tilrey’s lap, his knee in a position that made Tilrey’s cock swell again, and touched his cheek. “You need to relax.”
But Tilrey couldn’t relax. Despite everything he himself had done for the True Hearth, he was shocked by the idea of Gersha buying Gavril’s safety at such a price. “Coming here is one thing, but when you actively help these people, you cross a line.” He remembered exactly when he’d crossed that line himself: when he delivered the coordinates of the settlement to the True Hearth in Thurskein. He’d done it for his mom, for Dal, for all of them. “Why, Gersha? What made you do it?”
Tilrey knew far too well how it felt to be imprisoned, isolated, and broken down to the point where you’d embrace your captor like a lover. But Gersha had only been here a few days. He appeared to be under no physical or mental coercion. Or was Tilrey missing something?
“They haven’t hurt you or locked you up, have they, love?” he asked, his thumb stroking Gersha’s own unshaven cheek. “Whatever it is, you can tell me.”
Gersha reddened, but didn’t pull away. “No! They treat me like a colleague. Until I saw the detention block last night, I didn’t even know people got locked up here.” The green eyes focused on Tilrey’s again, gentle but firm. “I’m not sure why you’re making me explain myself, considering. But . . . well, the sergeant and Krisha are your friends. And this place is my home, and your home, and theirs.”
As Gersha spoke, his voice dropped to a near-whisper, and his eyes lowered, the long lashes brushing his cheek. Something swelled up through Tilrey’s chest and caught in his throat. Gersha had sacrificed his honor, his high-Upstart integrity, for a man he barely knew. And he’d done it to make Tilrey happy.
Something was still swelling between Tilrey’s legs, too, and fuck it. All this talk was getting them nowhere. Maybe if he made Gersha come the way he should’ve last night, he’d get more frankness from him. Or maybe that was just an excuse. But his chest was still swelling with a warmth he couldn’t contain, and he might start weeping like a child if he couldn’t get closer, couldn’t get Gersha inside him.
He pulled Gersha down on top of him and rutted up against his hip, one hand still in his hair, both their bodies tense and eager. When Gersha hardened, Tilrey grabbed hold and stroked him quickly to a state of aching readiness.
Gersha moaned and arched his back. Then he buried his face in Tilrey’s neck and sucked it wetly, grazing it with his teeth, pausing only to whisper, “I want you.”
“Have me, then.” Tilrey sat up just enough to tug off his briefs. He lay down again, carrying Gersha with him, and rolled backward, knees to chest, exposing himself. He was careful of his ankle, but its faint throb was no distraction from the engorged need between his legs. “Got any lube?”
“I think so.” Gersha scrambled off him and rummaged in the nightstand. “But I don’t want to hurt you. I should be the one—”
“No, sweetheart, no. Yesterday was perfect. Now I want you to fuck me—and not the sweet and tender way, either.”
He tugged Gersha back down on top of him and kissed his lover’s throat, stroking Gersha’s cock with the other hand. More words came unbidden to his lips: “I want you to fuck me like you did right after I taught you how to fuck me, all those years ago when I first belonged to you. Like you’re starving and I’m a five-course dinner. Do it hard. Hold me down.” He ran a finger over Gersha’s lips, which opened and took him in. “Don’t think about my pleasure. Make me feel you balls-deep. Make me feel you tomorrow.”
The words were making Gersha buck helplessly against Tilrey’s hip. When he reached for the lube, his trembling hands dropped it.
“No worries, sweetheart.” Tilrey snatched the tube and eased himself backward and Gersha to one side. Knees in the air, he worked a slick finger into himself, then two, doing it with the brisk efficiency he’d learned from servicing men who had no interest in making it good for him.
He’d used similar dirty talk on some of those men, but this was different—he meant it. Before he went back to thinking for both of them—because someone had to get them out of this mess—he wanted to surrender control for a while, wanted to be used. With a deliciously wanton shiver, he tossed the tube away and rolled his spine to hook his knees over Gersha’s shoulders.
The first, abortive jab of Gersha’s cock made all Tilrey’s senses white out for a second. When he spoke again, it was in a growl: “I’m not walking you through this. I’m an invalid, for fuck’s sake. Take charge. Take me.”
For an instant, Gersha looked ready to protest. Then his eyes filmed over and his pupils bloomed. With a moan, he grabbed hold of Tilrey’s hands, pressed them together above his head, and thrust into him.
It was a quick, wild ride—or maybe a long one; Tilrey lost all sense of time. At first, Gersha’s thrusts were deep, heedless, and brutal, just as he’d demanded. Just as they’d been in their first months together, when Gersha first discovered how good it felt to claim someone with utter selfishness.
Then Gersha drew back a little, as if remembering himself. He seized hold of Tilrey’s cock with one hand, still pinning his wrists above his head with the other, and angled his thrusts in that way that made Tilrey writhe and keen under him.
“Harder,” Tilrey whispered when he was able to speak again.
Head thrown back and eyes slitted, he remembered when he’d last made a similar request—in his dorm room in Redda, being fucked by that gruff, sweet engineer. He’d been so desperate to forget Gersha’s rejection. He hadn’t even wanted pleasure then, just punishment, though any intense sensation would do.
The memory hovered in his head for an instant, evanescent as the light on the walls, and vanished. Gersha was here inside him, filling him. The pressure of his hand around Tilrey’s cock was teasing, then crushing, then unbearable—and just when Tilrey thought he’d burst from it, he came, rutting up into the grip, driving Gersha deeper into him.
Gersha stopped moving for a few seconds, letting him ride it out. When Tilrey went lax at last, he released his hands and began to fuck him again in deep, slow, intimate strokes, burying his head against Tilrey’s collarbone, moaning a little each time his cock drove home. He came at last with a long, shuddering cry, his back arching, and pulled out and curled himself up on Tilrey’s chest.
Tilrey rolled on his side, savoring the stretch in his martyred thigh muscles, and drew Gersha into his arms. Gersha was still dressed in that stupid coverall, and Tilrey wanted to peel it off him, but his own body felt waterlogged. It was all he could do to keep his eyes open as he pressed his lover against him, dimly conscious of the warm seed leaking down his thighs.
“That’s exactly what I wanted,” he said.
A hard fuck was something he’d often craved in Redda, but Gersha had usually pulled back, reluctant. Maybe here, where no kettle boys existed and no Levels separated them, it was different.
Be his equal, Malsha had suggested, but the whole visit had brought home for Tilrey that you couldn’t erase the past. If Gersha imagined they could ever be at the same level, in any sense of the word, he was dreaming. Yet being here seemed to have set something free in him.
Maybe he liked it.
And then, at last, Tilrey’s pleasure-slowed brain reran the last thing Gersha had said before the tide of need carried them both away: This place is my home, and your home, and theirs.
“You don’t just think we can’t leave here,” he murmured into Gersha’s neck. “You don’t want to leave.”
Chapter End Notes
No worries, Tilrey will face off with Egil. But first, I wanted a little more fun. :) Thanks for reading!
Chapter End Notes
No worries, Tilrey will face off with Egil. But first, I wanted a little more fun. :) Thanks for reading!
No worries, Tilrey will face off with Egil. But first, I wanted a little more fun. :) Thanks for reading!