Volume 20: All the Kinds of Broken
Chapter 45
Fulfilled
Chapter Notes
I wanted to resolve the cliffhanger before I went on a trip, so I rushed this chapter a bit. Hopefully it doesn’t read too badly! Thank you so much for reading. <33
Chapter Notes
I wanted to resolve the cliffhanger before I went on a trip, so I rushed this chapter a bit. Hopefully it doesn’t read too badly! Thank you so much for reading. <33
I wanted to resolve the cliffhanger before I went on a trip, so I rushed this chapter a bit. Hopefully it doesn’t read too badly! Thank you so much for reading. <33
“Tilrey.” Bror eased the leggings over Tilrey’s hips, down his thighs. “I think you’re trying to distract me from what we were talking about.”“I’m not.” Tilrey had rolled face down on the bed, the heat of the glowing stove washing across his bare skin.He had stripped to the waist a moment ago, while Bror fetched the lube. Now, with another tug or two from Bror, his briefs came off along with the leggings.It felt good to let Bror unveil his nakedness. Propped on his elbows, Tilrey arched his back and offered his ass in a single leisurely motion, trusting Bror to know exactly what to do.I want to feel it, though. It was easy to offer himself; he did that all the time. He was rewarded for doing it and for pretending to like it. At this point, it was an effort not to let his body run on autopilot while his mind went elsewhere. Sex was a way to end arguments, to defuse tension, to keep himself safe. A tool. Could he ever go back to the time when it had been something else—terrifying, dizzying joy?He tried to remember how it had felt with Dal. They’d spent half their time just finding places to kiss and grope where they wouldn’t be discovered. He’d only been inside her twice, and it had been over so quickly. He was embarrassed because he knew it was supposed to last longer. Had he ever even thought of asking her to penetrate him with a finger? He didn’t think so.Bror stroked the swell of Tilrey’s ass, gave it a light squeeze, and then continued up his back, tracing his contours. The touch was gentle and agonizingly slow, and it made Tilrey shiver.“Let’s pretend it’s my first time,” he whispered.Bror caressed Tilrey’s right shoulder blade, then his left, and kneaded them with the heels of his hands as if he were giving Tilrey a massage. He raked fingers through Tilrey’s hair, kissed the nape of his neck, and then stroked methodically down his back again. His fingertips felt broad and slightly calloused—rougher than Tilrey’s. “I don’t want a virgin, Rishka. I want you now, exactly the way you are.”“But what if I could be fresh for you? All over again?” The slang term tasted bitter in Tilrey’s mouth. Makari had asked him if he was fresh when they met in the cell in Thurskein.“Why would you want that?”“I didn’t have a good first time,” Tilrey admitted, leaning into Bror’s touch. “Fir Jena gave me too much sap. I woke up and it was over.”“You weren’t even awake?” Bror’s hand spread out on Tilrey’s ass, cupping it protectively. “That fucking prick.”Tilrey didn’t miss the note of pain in his friend’s voice. Maybe he shouldn’t confess these things. It put pressure on Bror to produce an appropriate response—to show he cared, even if he couldn’t undo any of it.“It was fine. I was fine,” he said hastily, keeping to himself that he hadn’t felt fine at the time, and things had gotten worse the second time, when he was awake. “That’s why I want to be fresh for you, though. To have a second first time, a better one. Are you gonna use that lube?”Again Bror gave Tilrey’s ass-cheek the gentlest of squeezes. “We’ve got plenty of time, but yeah, okay.”The lube was still cold from the outdoors. The first poke of Bror’s slick finger made Tilrey’s whole body stiffen.Don’t think about Verán. Don’t think about Gourmanian. Don’t float away. He rested his cheek on his crossed arms and willed himself to breathe regularly, in, hold, out. “Keep going. I’ll warm it up. What was your first time like?”“My first time having sex at all? Or a cock inside me?” Bror was rubbing around the sensitive rim of Tilrey’s passage, not trying to penetrate him yet.“Either. Both.”“That could fill a history book. I did things with a lot of boys and girls at school. Was a big ol’ slut.” Bror’s free hand groped under Tilrey’s body to pump his half-hard cock. “Are you shocked?”“No!” Tilrey eased weight onto his knees, making room for Bror’s hand. He rocked his hips, thrusting into the firm grip, as he imagined his friend entangled with all sorts of schoolmates. Bror was generous with his body and his talents—so different from Tilrey, who had always been mindful of boundaries. But different in a way that made Tilrey harder.Bror continued rubbing with one hand and pumping with the other. “The first guy who fucked me was the under-chef at the Restaurant. He was older, hot in a scruffy way. He’d insult me every time I set foot in his kitchen, and I’d insult him right back. One day the shit-talking got us hot and bothered. We fucked in the storeroom, me on a bag of flour. He made it good for me. But once he’d had me, he wouldn’t even look at me.”Tilrey couldn’t imagine anyone treating Bror that way. “What an asshole!”“Oh, he was. But he made the best fish broth in the city.”“Mmmm.” Tilrey forgot what he’d been about to say as a blunt-tipped finger pressed inside him. He lay absolutely still, relaxing the muscles to make it easier.He could feel his body’s well-oiled reflexes coming online: Lie still. Breathe. Open. Breathe. Push out. Breathe. You don’t have to feel anything—No! This couldn’t be like every other time. With Bror, he wanted to feel it. Each moment should mean something.Bror’s free hand was playing with Tilrey’s balls, palming them as if to weigh them. Tilrey’s breath caught, and he squirmed helplessly even as he forced himself to say in an almost-normal tone, “Was your first time your best time?”Bror laughed. “Green hells, no.”Had Bror been fucked that many times? By different men? Tilrey wouldn’t normally have allowed himself to feel jealous. But right now the zing of irritation only intensified the arousal pulsing from his ass to his groin and back. “I thought you were usually on top. With Upstarts, I mean.”Bror’s index finger probed deeper. “I am. My best times being fucked weren’t with Strutters.”“Who, then?” Tilrey wouldn’t normally have pried this way. But talking about Bror being fucked, about Bror enjoying being fucked, made it easier for him to stay here with Bror, focusing on the sweet ache as Bror’s finger ventured deeper inside him.The warmth, the sense of fullness, like a glowing light getting closer and brighter. If Bror liked this, then surely Tilrey could, too. Why not?So many men described fucking as a punishment, though. Beg me not to do it to you. Ask me to be gentle. Was it any wonder that Tilrey usually preferred to let his mind float elsewhere? Why should he give them the satisfaction of thinking they’d possessed him, body and soul?He could think of only three Councillors who had ever really cared about giving him pleasure. Saldegren, who seemed to think an orgasm could solve everything; and Malsha and Gourmanian, who yearned to see him squirm with pain as well as ecstasy.He was doing it again—letting his mind wander. He needed to anchor himself to this bed and these sensations, to stay in the moment and feel.He instinctively reached for the most irritating subject he knew. “Has Ansha ever fucked you? Is he good?”Bror was moving his finger in small circles, pushing deeper each time. “Ansha? Nah, I’m not into that with him. My best fuck is Franck—István’s driver. I ask him to do me sometimes when the Fir isn’t around.”“You do?” The thought of Bror asking to be fucked, offering himself to some rough driver the way Tilrey was offering himself to Bror now, made Tilrey’s cock surge. Bror’s hand had withdrawn, and he fought an urge to rub himself wildly against the bedclothes. “So it’s good with this Franck? Good how?”“You’re not gonna be jealous, are you?” The tip of Bror’s middle finger pressed inside Tilrey now, too. “Franck’s okay looking. Clean-cut, nothing special. What I like is how he talks when he’s inside me. He never shuts up, which normally would be a pain in the ass, but his voice is nice. Soothing. And he doesn’t try to talk dirty. He goes through a blow-by-blow of the repairs he’s planning to do on the Fir’s car.”Tilrey had to laugh. “That turns you on?”“Hell, yeah.” Bror patted his ass. “Don’t judge, okay? Something about the combination of a lecture on changing a magnetic belt and his cock plowing me. It’s damn good.”Tilrey pondered this. Would he forget all about floating away if Bror delivered a monologue on car maintenance or something equally mind-numbing?He didn’t think so. He knew suddenly that he needed a more intense form of stimulation: the goad of mental or physical pain.You’re so beautifully responsive, he could almost hear Malsha saying. There’s nothing better than balancing on the razor’s edge between pain and pleasure. Nothing simpler than that could ever satisfy you, Rishka.Normally Tilrey would have pushed these feelings away angrily. He didn’t want Malsha to be right. But Bror’s confession had made him less self-judgmental. Maybe his taste for pain and humiliation had started as just something Malsha and Gourmanian wanted to believe, or maybe they’d woken something latent in him. But either way, he knew he wanted those wilder sensations. They were what anchored him.He didn’t want to enjoy them as himself, though—he wasn’t ready for that. He wanted to experience them as someone else, someone it was safe to hurt.He shifted, trying to take more of the two fingers that were impaling and widening him. Bror had found the right spot, and Tilrey closed his eyes to savor the tingling wave of arousal.When he opened them again, he said, “Pretend I’m Ansha.”Bror stopped moving. “What? Why?”“Fuck me like you’d fuck him,” Tilrey insisted.Bror looked downright shocked. “I only did that twice. Because he asked me to.”“Please don’t stop! Just tell me how it felt with him. I want to know.” Tilrey reared up, still trying to take more of Bror’s fingers. “It’s not a jealousy thing, promise. It turns me on.”Bror began moving again, his fingers circling and probing and then carefully thrusting, preparing Tilrey to receive him. “I probably shouldn’t tell you this, because you already don’t like Ansha. But it wasn’t great. The whole time, he was asking me to critique him. What did I like? What should he do different? It wasn’t white noise, either, like with Franck. He expected answers, which was distracting.”“I can be distracting.”“You’re distracting in a whole nother way.” Bror gave some attention to Tilrey’s cock again. “Not to say Ansha’s a bad lay. He’s got this way of slithering up and down me, poking and teasing—it gets me going.”“He slithers on me, too,” Tilrey said, “when he wants to put on a show for Verán.”“It works. But the insecurity? Not hot at all. Not to me, anyway.” Bror released Tilrey’s cock, popped his fingers out of the slick passage, and rocked back on his haunches to give some attention to his own jutting, engorged organ. “Why does it turn you on to talk about Ansha? You don’t wish he was here, do you?”“No! I want you, no one else.” How could Tilrey explain? “But I’m insecure, Bror. I’m more like Ansha than you think.” I’m bad. I like bad things, when I like anything at all.“Oh, sweetie. You’re not.” Bror’s breath caught, and he paused to ruffle Tilrey’s hair. “Ansha was thinking about Strutters the whole time he was with me. What would Lindahl think? What would Verán think? Was he sexy enough for them? Fucking maddening.”That’s my problem, too. Malsha, Verán, Gourmanian—they’re inside my head. But Tilrey couldn’t admit it. If Bror thought that not being able to stop being a kettle boy was a weakness, then he would pretend he could stop any time he wanted.“Pretend I’m Ansha,” he said stubbornly, as Bror eased him upright and wedged their spare bedroll under his hips. “I’m being annoying right now—so annoying you have to fuck me quiet. You have to fuck me so hard my brain stops working and I shut up.”“Mmm-kay.” There was a slight growl in Bror’s voice as he stroked Tilrey from ass to nape again. “That I can do. But you’re not Ansha. You’re you.”“I’d rather be him. You’ll be too careful with me.” Tilrey spread his thighs of his own accord—ass in the air, ready to be ravaged. He was so used to feeling nothing in this position that the sharp edge of arousal came as a surprise.“I guess you and Ansha do have something in common.” Bror bent and mouthed Tilrey’s nape, sucking hard at the loose skin. “Obsession. With each other.”“It’s not like that! I just mean … don’t be careful. Please.” Heat was spreading over Tilrey’s skin, radiating outward from his throbbing cock.He humped the bedroll shamelessly, until Bror chuckled and took his cock in hand again. “Nah. After all this build-up? I’m not gonna be careful.”His voice was rough, breathless. A shiver of pleasure ran over Tilrey as he rocked his hips faster, secure in Bror’s grip. “Oh yeah? Show me.”After that, there were fewer words.Tilrey held his breath as Bror mounted him, his weight pinning Tilrey to the bed. When he felt the first jab of a heavy cock against his crack, he came alive again, writhing with desperate eagerness.Bror planted himself on his knees, straddling Tilrey, and lined himself up. “You better be ready for this.”“Oh, I’m ready.”Tilrey already knew that Bror was larger than Verán, larger than Ansha, larger than anyone he had taken except possibly Krisha and one of the soldiers. (Don’t think about them now.) He knew it would hurt.But he hadn’t quite been prepared. When Bror’s cockhead breached him, he closed his eyes tight on stinging tears. He breathed through the discomfort, though, determined to stay here and not float away.The first sharp pang dulled to an ache as Bror thrust deeper into the passage he had so carefully prepared. And the ache dispersed into a warm cloud of need. Tilrey desperately wanted more of that pressure—even as Bror pulled out again, making him wince from the friction.“More,” he whispered hoarsely, arching his back.Bror’s early thrusts were shallow and punishing at once, his grunting breaths loud in Tilrey’s ears. Each one filled Tilrey deeper, and he felt it all so intensely that he almost could have sworn this was his first time. With Malsha, Saldegren, Gourmanian, he had felt something—but never this.When Bror slid home at last, Tilrey felt the spongy weight and tickle of his friend’s scrotum against his crack. A wild spasm seized him. His whole body throbbed, from the soles of his feet to the roots of his hair.“Take me. Have me. Make me yours,” he begged softly. All things he had said before without meaning them.Bror groaned as he reached down to tend to Tilrey’s cock. “Better believe it. Don’ know how long I can hold out, Rishka.”Then he was moving again—furiously, with one hand still pinned under Tilrey. The other hand buried itself in Tilrey’s hair, jamming his face into the sleeping bag, as Bror’s hips rocked and his cock thrust home and emerged, over and over.Tilrey was used to this, too—being shoved down, half suffocated by a man rutting on top of him. With Upstarts, it was his least favorite part.For an instant, he almost couldn’t stand it. Almost floated free. But then Bror’s grip on his head loosened a little, allowing Tilrey to turn sideways and breathe through his nose. Now he could push back a little, rocking upward to meet each thrust.They were like two parts of a perfect machine, moving in concert with a strength and grace they could never have apart. The hot glow of pleasure spread between them, coating their limbs with a thin film of sweat, defying the frozen taiga outside.A log cracked in the stove. Flames danced on the rough-hewn walls. Tilrey was teetering on the edge, and he knew Bror was close, too, by his ragged breathing as he pulled out again.“Tell me I’m yours,” Tilrey ordered.He wanted to feel Bror inside him forever—hours, days, ten-days, months, years after this moment. No matter what happened now, no matter how many other men had him, it was Bror he belonged to, Bror whose cock had shaped him into who he was.Bror gasped and mouthed Tilrey’s shoulder, grazing it with his teeth. “Mine. Always. And I’m yours. This next one, you come for me, okay?”Tilrey didn’t want it ever to end. But even his well-trained body had limits. “Yeah,” he breathed. “Please.”As Bror’s cock plowed him again, the powerful body bearing down on him, his own seed spilled over Bror’s hand. Fulfillment flooded Tilrey’s senses with all the colors of a dream—blue sky, green grass, sunlight sparking gold and amethyst on the snow. As he felt the hot flood of Bror’s own climax inside him, he knew nothing would ever be the same after this.He was Bror’s, and Bror was his. And he would keep Bror safe, whatever it took.They dozed in the firelight, on top of the sleeping bag, body heat keeping them warm. Bror lay with his nose buried in Tilrey’s hair. He knew he should rise and find something to clean them both up with, but he couldn’t move.He’d had plenty of good fucks, but he didn’t think he’d ever come like that before. All those months of holding back had made him desperate to spend himself inside Tilrey. His nerves had been raw, his usual self-control MIA. Considering the circumstances, he was proud of himself for lasting as long as he had.Tilrey stirred against him, turning to kiss his cheek. “Hold me.”Bror’s arms were already wrapped around the slighter form, but he tightened his grip. “Why’d we wait so long to do this?”“Dunno.”Bror nipped Tilrey’s shoulder. “Next time, I want you inside me.”A soft laugh. “Don’t you want to do this again?”“Hells, yeah. That, too.”Bror barely remembered his mood of an hour or so ago. Already it was like a distant dream. He could admit to himself now that he’d been really pissed at Tilrey earlier, probably because Tilrey was right. Bror shouldn’t have planned this outing on his own. The deal he had struck with Vlastor might rebound on Tilrey, who had to deal with the driver every day.Bror had been acting like an older brother again. He should know he couldn’t protect Tilrey—Election Night had made that painfully clear.And he shouldn’t be springing surprises on Tilrey, even if they were good surprises. Even if he wanted nothing more right now than to take Tilrey away from the Island Party and shack up with him somewhere safe and warm and give him the life he deserved.I want to. I can’t.Most of his life, Bror had barely felt the limitations of being a Laborer. He had no interest in sitting at a desk like Upstarts. His life suited him fine.But Tilrey’s life didn’t suit Tilrey. And when Bror tried to make him happy, he bumped up against invisible prison walls that he’d never been aware of before.As the fire burned slowly to embers, chills moved over Bror’s skin. He hadn’t even undressed properly; his undershirts were still on, his trousers around his ankles. He should get up, fix that, and pull the sleeping bag over them both. But he couldn’t seem to release Tilrey from his grip.Funny how Tilrey kept harping on Ansha. Upstarts had fucked that kid in the head, too, and Bror had been too self-centered to see it. Or maybe he’d been so busy protecting Tilrey from Ansha that he hadn’t noticed until now what they had in common.One night about five months after Tilrey arrived in Redda, Ansha and Bror had gotten it on in the Vacants. Resting in Bror’s arms afterward, Ansha had said, “You fuck me, but you want him. I know it.”“What? Who are you talking about?” Bror really didn’t know who Ansha meant—or thought he didn’t, anyway.Ansha said, “Him. Our precious little golden-haired boy. You know what Fir Verán said to me, yesterday in the Lounge? He was bitching because he’d never have a crack at Malsha’s new boy. When I told him I’d make up for it, he just stared at me like I was an insect. He said, ‘That boy is objectively superior to you.’”Objectively superior. To Bror, it was just one of the dumb things Strutters said. But the words must have burned themselves into Ansha’s brain, because every now and then, he repeated them—sarcastically, with an eye roll to hide the obvious hurt. Even now, years later, when Verán treated Tilrey like a broken toy he barely valued, Ansha couldn’t seem to forget the insult.Until tonight, Bror had thought Ansha was just a brownnoser. Now, clutching Tilrey in his arms and feeling an urgent and futile need to protect this boy, he understood them both a little better.Whether they called you inferior or superior, Strutters found ways to fuck you up. They had convinced Ansha that Tilrey was his enemy, when his enemy was actually the shitty, dead-end life in Ring Eight that had driven him to embrace the somewhat less shitty life of a kettle boy. His enemy was the world Strutters had made.Nuzzling Tilrey’s throat, Bror found himself thinking strange, subversive thoughts—things he didn’t dare voice aloud. You’re not like Ansha because they’ll never break you. I won’t let them.Tilrey stirred against him. “Um. My arm’s falling asleep, and I have to piss.”Bror kissed his forehead and sat up, releasing him to do the same. “How does your ankle feel?”“Better!” Tilrey planted his feet on the floor and stood up, wincing. “Ow. Except now I hurt in other places.”“No kidding.” Unrepentant, Bror kicked off his trousers and went to cradle Tilrey from behind, just in case he stumbled. “I love you,” he whispered in Tilrey’s ear. “Think you can step outside in the snow by yourself?”Tilrey tested his ankle, putting his full weight on it. “You were right before. It’s only twisted. I shouldn’t have made such a damn fuss.”“I forgive you.” There was a lump in Bror’s throat, because Election Night wasn’t even a ten-day behind them. Of course Tilrey wanted to stay on Verán’s good side. Of course he worried about taking risks.Bror wanted to promise him there was no reason to worry. Couldn’t.To cover up his feelings, he gave Tilrey a playful swat on the ass. “So go on out and piss. Then I’ll warm you up again, and we’ll sneak back to the villas before dawn. Not just yet, though. I said I wanted to sleep a whole night with you in my arms, and that’s what I plan to do.”The end of the night came far too soon. The October sky was still dark, the stars blazing, as they tugged on their warm clothes, scraped the stove ashes into a bin, and piled the ski equipment neatly in the cabin for Bror’s friend to retrieve later.Tilrey had barely slept. His nerves still tingled with the giddiness of Bror’s closeness. As he trudged through the necessary tasks, he yearned to run to his friend and touch him, kiss him, hold him, never let him go.Strange that the same act he’d performed with so many other men—endured it, really—had never transformed him until now.As they walked away from the cabin, snow crunching under their boots, Tilrey paused and turned around for one last look. “This was our place,” he said.Bror looped an arm through his and tugged him close. “Maybe we can come back here sometime. And we’ll still have the Vacants.”“Yeah.” Tilrey melted against Bror, relishing his woodsmoke musk, the vibration of his voice, the solidity of his arms. He wanted to believe they had many more nights like this ahead of them, but it didn’t feel safe to count on anything.We had tonight. That was what mattered—and making sure Bror had a long, happy life ahead of him.“This was fun and all, but I can’t wait to get under a hot shower,” Bror admitted as they headed down the trail. Tilrey could feel his eagerness, the simple pleasure he would take in being warm and clean. That was part of Bror, too: his beautiful straightforwardness. His brain would never be like Tilrey’s, gnarled and self-hating.As they walked, Tilrey found himself imagining the life Bror would probably have someday if nothing interfered. He would make a home with his Ring Six sweetheart, Mirella, and raise a passel of kids, all clamoring for his generous attention.The daydream gave Tilrey no jealousy, only a bittersweet relief. It was as if he and Bror were now so close that any happiness Bror experienced, Tilrey would experience, too.Whatever happens to me, he’ll be safe. I swear it.*Ansha couldn’t sleep. Naked, he sat in the windowseat with his knees drawn up, holding back the edge of the blind to watch the stars dim and the sky slowly lighten.His ass and his throat both felt raw, he tasted cum, and he was sick of Upstarts. He was happy to give them whatever they wanted, of course he was, but sometimes they were just so fucking demanding.Verán was easy as long as you praised his cocksmanship. But Besha wanted something Ansha couldn’t give him. He’d spent half the night talking about Ansha’s least favorite subject, while Ansha nodded and smiled and pretended not to mind.Someone was taking a predawn stroll on the trail that connected the villas to the resort. Two tall men dressed in athletic gear, arm in arm like lovers. How sweet, Ansha thought acidly, watching them. He couldn’t tell from the clothes if they were Upstarts or Laborers.Do you like fucking the Party’s Jewel? Besha had asked him. How often does Verán give him to you? Does he ever struggle, or does he always just lie there?Who the fuck cares? Ansha had wanted to snap. Why are you all so obsessed with Tilrey?But he knew the answer. Verán had made it clear to him: Tilrey was “objectively superior.” No matter how hard Ansha tried to please, no matter how little effort Tilrey put in, Tilrey would always be the Jewel. And Ansha would always be second or third best. If a high name said it, it had to be true.Ansha wasn’t jealous! Never mind what Tilrey thought. He didn’t want to be treated the way the Island Party treated Tilrey. But he did think Tilrey had brought that on himself. When someone was standoffish, full of himself, people were bound to try to take him down a peg.Why was even Besha obsessed, though? Was it just that Tilrey had that hair, those eyes, that mouth, those shoulders, that cock? Or was there some special kind of allure that Ansha was too stupid to grasp?The two men were closer. A light snowfall had obscured their shapes—but now, with a jolt, Ansha recognized them.Tilrey—and Bror! Yes, he was sure of it.As they walked, Bror bent his thick neck to address Tilrey in a companionable way. Ansha remembered evenings when he and Bror had walked to the tram stop in the Vacants, and Bror had inclined his head to Ansha just like that.I knew it. I fucking knew it! Tilrey had insisted way too hard that he didn’t even like Bror. And Bror insisted equally hard that he was only interested in Tilrey as a fuck. But Ansha could read body language, and he knew Bror cared about Tilrey as more than a nice mouth and ass.He wasn’t a total dunce, even if they both thought so.He watched as his two fellow kettle boys veered off the trail and out of sight, heading for Verán’s villa. Where had they been together, and for how long? What would Verán do if he knew someone else had been polishing his Jewel?Ansha wasn’t going to snitch, of course. The No. 1 rule you learned growing up in Ring Eight was never to fink on one of your own. And Bror and Tilrey were his own, even if Tilrey liked to pretend he was something better.No, Ansha wouldn’t tell Verán or any other Upstart. But that didn’t mean he’d pretend he hadn’t seen them.Behind him, footsteps padded across the thick carpet. Besha—Fir Linbeck—slung an arm around Ansha’s waist. “What’re you doing here?” he demanded sleepily. “Come back to me.”Ansha let himself be led back to the warm bed and tucked in. He snuggled into the weaselly little Councillor’s embrace as if he were perfectly happy there.Objectively superior, my ass, he was thinking. Someday they’ll all realize there’s nothing special about Tilrey at all.
“Tilrey.” Bror eased the leggings over Tilrey’s hips, down his thighs. “I think you’re trying to distract me from what we were talking about.”
“I’m not.” Tilrey had rolled face down on the bed, the heat of the glowing stove washing across his bare skin.
He had stripped to the waist a moment ago, while Bror fetched the lube. Now, with another tug or two from Bror, his briefs came off along with the leggings.
It felt good to let Bror unveil his nakedness. Propped on his elbows, Tilrey arched his back and offered his ass in a single leisurely motion, trusting Bror to know exactly what to do.
I want to feel it, though. It was easy to offer himself; he did that all the time. He was rewarded for doing it and for pretending to like it. At this point, it was an effort not to let his body run on autopilot while his mind went elsewhere. Sex was a way to end arguments, to defuse tension, to keep himself safe. A tool. Could he ever go back to the time when it had been something else—terrifying, dizzying joy?
He tried to remember how it had felt with Dal. They’d spent half their time just finding places to kiss and grope where they wouldn’t be discovered. He’d only been inside her twice, and it had been over so quickly. He was embarrassed because he knew it was supposed to last longer. Had he ever even thought of asking her to penetrate him with a finger? He didn’t think so.
Bror stroked the swell of Tilrey’s ass, gave it a light squeeze, and then continued up his back, tracing his contours. The touch was gentle and agonizingly slow, and it made Tilrey shiver.
“Let’s pretend it’s my first time,” he whispered.
Bror caressed Tilrey’s right shoulder blade, then his left, and kneaded them with the heels of his hands as if he were giving Tilrey a massage. He raked fingers through Tilrey’s hair, kissed the nape of his neck, and then stroked methodically down his back again. His fingertips felt broad and slightly calloused—rougher than Tilrey’s. “I don’t want a virgin, Rishka. I want you now, exactly the way you are.”
“But what if I could be fresh for you? All over again?” The slang term tasted bitter in Tilrey’s mouth. Makari had asked him if he was fresh when they met in the cell in Thurskein.
“Why would you want that?”
“I didn’t have a good first time,” Tilrey admitted, leaning into Bror’s touch. “Fir Jena gave me too much sap. I woke up and it was over.”
“You weren’t even awake?” Bror’s hand spread out on Tilrey’s ass, cupping it protectively. “That fucking prick.”
Tilrey didn’t miss the note of pain in his friend’s voice. Maybe he shouldn’t confess these things. It put pressure on Bror to produce an appropriate response—to show he cared, even if he couldn’t undo any of it.
“It was fine. I was fine,” he said hastily, keeping to himself that he hadn’t felt fine at the time, and things had gotten worse the second time, when he was awake. “That’s why I want to be fresh for you, though. To have a second first time, a better one. Are you gonna use that lube?”
Again Bror gave Tilrey’s ass-cheek the gentlest of squeezes. “We’ve got plenty of time, but yeah, okay.”
The lube was still cold from the outdoors. The first poke of Bror’s slick finger made Tilrey’s whole body stiffen.
Don’t think about Verán. Don’t think about Gourmanian. Don’t float away. He rested his cheek on his crossed arms and willed himself to breathe regularly, in, hold, out. “Keep going. I’ll warm it up. What was your first time like?”
“My first time having sex at all? Or a cock inside me?” Bror was rubbing around the sensitive rim of Tilrey’s passage, not trying to penetrate him yet.
“Either. Both.”
“That could fill a history book. I did things with a lot of boys and girls at school. Was a big ol’ slut.” Bror’s free hand groped under Tilrey’s body to pump his half-hard cock. “Are you shocked?”
“No!” Tilrey eased weight onto his knees, making room for Bror’s hand. He rocked his hips, thrusting into the firm grip, as he imagined his friend entangled with all sorts of schoolmates. Bror was generous with his body and his talents—so different from Tilrey, who had always been mindful of boundaries. But different in a way that made Tilrey harder.
Bror continued rubbing with one hand and pumping with the other. “The first guy who fucked me was the under-chef at the Restaurant. He was older, hot in a scruffy way. He’d insult me every time I set foot in his kitchen, and I’d insult him right back. One day the shit-talking got us hot and bothered. We fucked in the storeroom, me on a bag of flour. He made it good for me. But once he’d had me, he wouldn’t even look at me.”
Tilrey couldn’t imagine anyone treating Bror that way. “What an asshole!”
“Oh, he was. But he made the best fish broth in the city.”
“Mmmm.” Tilrey forgot what he’d been about to say as a blunt-tipped finger pressed inside him. He lay absolutely still, relaxing the muscles to make it easier.
He could feel his body’s well-oiled reflexes coming online: Lie still. Breathe. Open. Breathe. Push out. Breathe. You don’t have to feel anything—
No! This couldn’t be like every other time. With Bror, he wanted to feel it. Each moment should mean something.
Bror’s free hand was playing with Tilrey’s balls, palming them as if to weigh them. Tilrey’s breath caught, and he squirmed helplessly even as he forced himself to say in an almost-normal tone, “Was your first time your best time?”
Bror laughed. “Green hells, no.”
Had Bror been fucked that many times? By different men? Tilrey wouldn’t normally have allowed himself to feel jealous. But right now the zing of irritation only intensified the arousal pulsing from his ass to his groin and back. “I thought you were usually on top. With Upstarts, I mean.”
Bror’s index finger probed deeper. “I am. My best times being fucked weren’t with Strutters.”
“Who, then?” Tilrey wouldn’t normally have pried this way. But talking about Bror being fucked, about Bror enjoying being fucked, made it easier for him to stay here with Bror, focusing on the sweet ache as Bror’s finger ventured deeper inside him.
The warmth, the sense of fullness, like a glowing light getting closer and brighter. If Bror liked this, then surely Tilrey could, too. Why not?
So many men described fucking as a punishment, though. Beg me not to do it to you. Ask me to be gentle. Was it any wonder that Tilrey usually preferred to let his mind float elsewhere? Why should he give them the satisfaction of thinking they’d possessed him, body and soul?
He could think of only three Councillors who had ever really cared about giving him pleasure. Saldegren, who seemed to think an orgasm could solve everything; and Malsha and Gourmanian, who yearned to see him squirm with pain as well as ecstasy.
He was doing it again—letting his mind wander. He needed to anchor himself to this bed and these sensations, to stay in the moment and feel.
He instinctively reached for the most irritating subject he knew. “Has Ansha ever fucked you? Is he good?”
Bror was moving his finger in small circles, pushing deeper each time. “Ansha? Nah, I’m not into that with him. My best fuck is Franck—István’s driver. I ask him to do me sometimes when the Fir isn’t around.”
“You do?” The thought of Bror asking to be fucked, offering himself to some rough driver the way Tilrey was offering himself to Bror now, made Tilrey’s cock surge. Bror’s hand had withdrawn, and he fought an urge to rub himself wildly against the bedclothes. “So it’s good with this Franck? Good how?”
“You’re not gonna be jealous, are you?” The tip of Bror’s middle finger pressed inside Tilrey now, too. “Franck’s okay looking. Clean-cut, nothing special. What I like is how he talks when he’s inside me. He never shuts up, which normally would be a pain in the ass, but his voice is nice. Soothing. And he doesn’t try to talk dirty. He goes through a blow-by-blow of the repairs he’s planning to do on the Fir’s car.”
Tilrey had to laugh. “That turns you on?”
“Hell, yeah.” Bror patted his ass. “Don’t judge, okay? Something about the combination of a lecture on changing a magnetic belt and his cock plowing me. It’s damn good.”
Tilrey pondered this. Would he forget all about floating away if Bror delivered a monologue on car maintenance or something equally mind-numbing?
He didn’t think so. He knew suddenly that he needed a more intense form of stimulation: the goad of mental or physical pain.
You’re so beautifully responsive, he could almost hear Malsha saying. There’s nothing better than balancing on the razor’s edge between pain and pleasure. Nothing simpler than that could ever satisfy you, Rishka.
Normally Tilrey would have pushed these feelings away angrily. He didn’t want Malsha to be right. But Bror’s confession had made him less self-judgmental. Maybe his taste for pain and humiliation had started as just something Malsha and Gourmanian wanted to believe, or maybe they’d woken something latent in him. But either way, he knew he wanted those wilder sensations. They were what anchored him.
He didn’t want to enjoy them as himself, though—he wasn’t ready for that. He wanted to experience them as someone else, someone it was safe to hurt.
He shifted, trying to take more of the two fingers that were impaling and widening him. Bror had found the right spot, and Tilrey closed his eyes to savor the tingling wave of arousal.
When he opened them again, he said, “Pretend I’m Ansha.”
Bror stopped moving. “What? Why?”
“Fuck me like you’d fuck him,” Tilrey insisted.
Bror looked downright shocked. “I only did that twice. Because he asked me to.”
“Please don’t stop! Just tell me how it felt with him. I want to know.” Tilrey reared up, still trying to take more of Bror’s fingers. “It’s not a jealousy thing, promise. It turns me on.”
Bror began moving again, his fingers circling and probing and then carefully thrusting, preparing Tilrey to receive him. “I probably shouldn’t tell you this, because you already don’t like Ansha. But it wasn’t great. The whole time, he was asking me to critique him. What did I like? What should he do different? It wasn’t white noise, either, like with Franck. He expected answers, which was distracting.”
“I can be distracting.”
“You’re distracting in a whole nother way.” Bror gave some attention to Tilrey’s cock again. “Not to say Ansha’s a bad lay. He’s got this way of slithering up and down me, poking and teasing—it gets me going.”
“He slithers on me, too,” Tilrey said, “when he wants to put on a show for Verán.”
“It works. But the insecurity? Not hot at all. Not to me, anyway.” Bror released Tilrey’s cock, popped his fingers out of the slick passage, and rocked back on his haunches to give some attention to his own jutting, engorged organ. “Why does it turn you on to talk about Ansha? You don’t wish he was here, do you?”
“No! I want you, no one else.” How could Tilrey explain? “But I’m insecure, Bror. I’m more like Ansha than you think.” I’m bad. I like bad things, when I like anything at all.
“Oh, sweetie. You’re not.” Bror’s breath caught, and he paused to ruffle Tilrey’s hair. “Ansha was thinking about Strutters the whole time he was with me. What would Lindahl think? What would Verán think? Was he sexy enough for them? Fucking maddening.”
That’s my problem, too. Malsha, Verán, Gourmanian—they’re inside my head. But Tilrey couldn’t admit it. If Bror thought that not being able to stop being a kettle boy was a weakness, then he would pretend he could stop any time he wanted.
“Pretend I’m Ansha,” he said stubbornly, as Bror eased him upright and wedged their spare bedroll under his hips. “I’m being annoying right now—so annoying you have to fuck me quiet. You have to fuck me so hard my brain stops working and I shut up.”
“Mmm-kay.” There was a slight growl in Bror’s voice as he stroked Tilrey from ass to nape again. “That I can do. But you’re not Ansha. You’re you.”
“I’d rather be him. You’ll be too careful with me.” Tilrey spread his thighs of his own accord—ass in the air, ready to be ravaged. He was so used to feeling nothing in this position that the sharp edge of arousal came as a surprise.
“I guess you and Ansha do have something in common.” Bror bent and mouthed Tilrey’s nape, sucking hard at the loose skin. “Obsession. With each other.”
“It’s not like that! I just mean … don’t be careful. Please.” Heat was spreading over Tilrey’s skin, radiating outward from his throbbing cock.
He humped the bedroll shamelessly, until Bror chuckled and took his cock in hand again. “Nah. After all this build-up? I’m not gonna be careful.”
His voice was rough, breathless. A shiver of pleasure ran over Tilrey as he rocked his hips faster, secure in Bror’s grip. “Oh yeah? Show me.”
After that, there were fewer words.
Tilrey held his breath as Bror mounted him, his weight pinning Tilrey to the bed. When he felt the first jab of a heavy cock against his crack, he came alive again, writhing with desperate eagerness.
Bror planted himself on his knees, straddling Tilrey, and lined himself up. “You better be ready for this.”
“Oh, I’m ready.”
Tilrey already knew that Bror was larger than Verán, larger than Ansha, larger than anyone he had taken except possibly Krisha and one of the soldiers. (Don’t think about them now.) He knew it would hurt.
But he hadn’t quite been prepared. When Bror’s cockhead breached him, he closed his eyes tight on stinging tears. He breathed through the discomfort, though, determined to stay here and not float away.
The first sharp pang dulled to an ache as Bror thrust deeper into the passage he had so carefully prepared. And the ache dispersed into a warm cloud of need. Tilrey desperately wanted more of that pressure—even as Bror pulled out again, making him wince from the friction.
“More,” he whispered hoarsely, arching his back.
Bror’s early thrusts were shallow and punishing at once, his grunting breaths loud in Tilrey’s ears. Each one filled Tilrey deeper, and he felt it all so intensely that he almost could have sworn this was his first time. With Malsha, Saldegren, Gourmanian, he had felt something—but never this.
When Bror slid home at last, Tilrey felt the spongy weight and tickle of his friend’s scrotum against his crack. A wild spasm seized him. His whole body throbbed, from the soles of his feet to the roots of his hair.
“Take me. Have me. Make me yours,” he begged softly. All things he had said before without meaning them.
Bror groaned as he reached down to tend to Tilrey’s cock. “Better believe it. Don’ know how long I can hold out, Rishka.”
Then he was moving again—furiously, with one hand still pinned under Tilrey. The other hand buried itself in Tilrey’s hair, jamming his face into the sleeping bag, as Bror’s hips rocked and his cock thrust home and emerged, over and over.
Tilrey was used to this, too—being shoved down, half suffocated by a man rutting on top of him. With Upstarts, it was his least favorite part.
For an instant, he almost couldn’t stand it. Almost floated free. But then Bror’s grip on his head loosened a little, allowing Tilrey to turn sideways and breathe through his nose. Now he could push back a little, rocking upward to meet each thrust.
They were like two parts of a perfect machine, moving in concert with a strength and grace they could never have apart. The hot glow of pleasure spread between them, coating their limbs with a thin film of sweat, defying the frozen taiga outside.
A log cracked in the stove. Flames danced on the rough-hewn walls. Tilrey was teetering on the edge, and he knew Bror was close, too, by his ragged breathing as he pulled out again.
“Tell me I’m yours,” Tilrey ordered.
He wanted to feel Bror inside him forever—hours, days, ten-days, months, years after this moment. No matter what happened now, no matter how many other men had him, it was Bror he belonged to, Bror whose cock had shaped him into who he was.
Bror gasped and mouthed Tilrey’s shoulder, grazing it with his teeth. “Mine. Always. And I’m yours. This next one, you come for me, okay?”
Tilrey didn’t want it ever to end. But even his well-trained body had limits. “Yeah,” he breathed. “Please.”
As Bror’s cock plowed him again, the powerful body bearing down on him, his own seed spilled over Bror’s hand. Fulfillment flooded Tilrey’s senses with all the colors of a dream—blue sky, green grass, sunlight sparking gold and amethyst on the snow. As he felt the hot flood of Bror’s own climax inside him, he knew nothing would ever be the same after this.
He was Bror’s, and Bror was his. And he would keep Bror safe, whatever it took.
They dozed in the firelight, on top of the sleeping bag, body heat keeping them warm. Bror lay with his nose buried in Tilrey’s hair. He knew he should rise and find something to clean them both up with, but he couldn’t move.
He’d had plenty of good fucks, but he didn’t think he’d ever come like that before. All those months of holding back had made him desperate to spend himself inside Tilrey. His nerves had been raw, his usual self-control MIA. Considering the circumstances, he was proud of himself for lasting as long as he had.
Tilrey stirred against him, turning to kiss his cheek. “Hold me.”
Bror’s arms were already wrapped around the slighter form, but he tightened his grip. “Why’d we wait so long to do this?”
“Dunno.”
Bror nipped Tilrey’s shoulder. “Next time, I want you inside me.”
A soft laugh. “Don’t you want to do this again?”
“Hells, yeah. That, too.”
Bror barely remembered his mood of an hour or so ago. Already it was like a distant dream. He could admit to himself now that he’d been really pissed at Tilrey earlier, probably because Tilrey was right. Bror shouldn’t have planned this outing on his own. The deal he had struck with Vlastor might rebound on Tilrey, who had to deal with the driver every day.
Bror had been acting like an older brother again. He should know he couldn’t protect Tilrey—Election Night had made that painfully clear.
And he shouldn’t be springing surprises on Tilrey, even if they were good surprises. Even if he wanted nothing more right now than to take Tilrey away from the Island Party and shack up with him somewhere safe and warm and give him the life he deserved.
I want to. I can’t.
Most of his life, Bror had barely felt the limitations of being a Laborer. He had no interest in sitting at a desk like Upstarts. His life suited him fine.
But Tilrey’s life didn’t suit Tilrey. And when Bror tried to make him happy, he bumped up against invisible prison walls that he’d never been aware of before.
As the fire burned slowly to embers, chills moved over Bror’s skin. He hadn’t even undressed properly; his undershirts were still on, his trousers around his ankles. He should get up, fix that, and pull the sleeping bag over them both. But he couldn’t seem to release Tilrey from his grip.
Funny how Tilrey kept harping on Ansha. Upstarts had fucked that kid in the head, too, and Bror had been too self-centered to see it. Or maybe he’d been so busy protecting Tilrey from Ansha that he hadn’t noticed until now what they had in common.
One night about five months after Tilrey arrived in Redda, Ansha and Bror had gotten it on in the Vacants. Resting in Bror’s arms afterward, Ansha had said, “You fuck me, but you want him. I know it.”
“What? Who are you talking about?” Bror really didn’t know who Ansha meant—or thought he didn’t, anyway.
Ansha said, “Him. Our precious little golden-haired boy. You know what Fir Verán said to me, yesterday in the Lounge? He was bitching because he’d never have a crack at Malsha’s new boy. When I told him I’d make up for it, he just stared at me like I was an insect. He said, ‘That boy is objectively superior to you.’”
Objectively superior. To Bror, it was just one of the dumb things Strutters said. But the words must have burned themselves into Ansha’s brain, because every now and then, he repeated them—sarcastically, with an eye roll to hide the obvious hurt. Even now, years later, when Verán treated Tilrey like a broken toy he barely valued, Ansha couldn’t seem to forget the insult.
Until tonight, Bror had thought Ansha was just a brownnoser. Now, clutching Tilrey in his arms and feeling an urgent and futile need to protect this boy, he understood them both a little better.
Whether they called you inferior or superior, Strutters found ways to fuck you up. They had convinced Ansha that Tilrey was his enemy, when his enemy was actually the shitty, dead-end life in Ring Eight that had driven him to embrace the somewhat less shitty life of a kettle boy. His enemy was the world Strutters had made.
Nuzzling Tilrey’s throat, Bror found himself thinking strange, subversive thoughts—things he didn’t dare voice aloud. You’re not like Ansha because they’ll never break you. I won’t let them.
Tilrey stirred against him. “Um. My arm’s falling asleep, and I have to piss.”
Bror kissed his forehead and sat up, releasing him to do the same. “How does your ankle feel?”
“Better!” Tilrey planted his feet on the floor and stood up, wincing. “Ow. Except now I hurt in other places.”
“No kidding.” Unrepentant, Bror kicked off his trousers and went to cradle Tilrey from behind, just in case he stumbled. “I love you,” he whispered in Tilrey’s ear. “Think you can step outside in the snow by yourself?”
Tilrey tested his ankle, putting his full weight on it. “You were right before. It’s only twisted. I shouldn’t have made such a damn fuss.”
“I forgive you.” There was a lump in Bror’s throat, because Election Night wasn’t even a ten-day behind them. Of course Tilrey wanted to stay on Verán’s good side. Of course he worried about taking risks.
Bror wanted to promise him there was no reason to worry. Couldn’t.
To cover up his feelings, he gave Tilrey a playful swat on the ass. “So go on out and piss. Then I’ll warm you up again, and we’ll sneak back to the villas before dawn. Not just yet, though. I said I wanted to sleep a whole night with you in my arms, and that’s what I plan to do.”
The end of the night came far too soon. The October sky was still dark, the stars blazing, as they tugged on their warm clothes, scraped the stove ashes into a bin, and piled the ski equipment neatly in the cabin for Bror’s friend to retrieve later.
Tilrey had barely slept. His nerves still tingled with the giddiness of Bror’s closeness. As he trudged through the necessary tasks, he yearned to run to his friend and touch him, kiss him, hold him, never let him go.
Strange that the same act he’d performed with so many other men—endured it, really—had never transformed him until now.
As they walked away from the cabin, snow crunching under their boots, Tilrey paused and turned around for one last look. “This was our place,” he said.
Bror looped an arm through his and tugged him close. “Maybe we can come back here sometime. And we’ll still have the Vacants.”
“Yeah.” Tilrey melted against Bror, relishing his woodsmoke musk, the vibration of his voice, the solidity of his arms. He wanted to believe they had many more nights like this ahead of them, but it didn’t feel safe to count on anything.
We had tonight. That was what mattered—and making sure Bror had a long, happy life ahead of him.
“This was fun and all, but I can’t wait to get under a hot shower,” Bror admitted as they headed down the trail. Tilrey could feel his eagerness, the simple pleasure he would take in being warm and clean. That was part of Bror, too: his beautiful straightforwardness. His brain would never be like Tilrey’s, gnarled and self-hating.
As they walked, Tilrey found himself imagining the life Bror would probably have someday if nothing interfered. He would make a home with his Ring Six sweetheart, Mirella, and raise a passel of kids, all clamoring for his generous attention.
The daydream gave Tilrey no jealousy, only a bittersweet relief. It was as if he and Bror were now so close that any happiness Bror experienced, Tilrey would experience, too.
Whatever happens to me, he’ll be safe. I swear it.
Ansha couldn’t sleep. Naked, he sat in the windowseat with his knees drawn up, holding back the edge of the blind to watch the stars dim and the sky slowly lighten.
His ass and his throat both felt raw, he tasted cum, and he was sick of Upstarts. He was happy to give them whatever they wanted, of course he was, but sometimes they were just so fucking demanding.
Verán was easy as long as you praised his cocksmanship. But Besha wanted something Ansha couldn’t give him. He’d spent half the night talking about Ansha’s least favorite subject, while Ansha nodded and smiled and pretended not to mind.
Someone was taking a predawn stroll on the trail that connected the villas to the resort. Two tall men dressed in athletic gear, arm in arm like lovers. How sweet, Ansha thought acidly, watching them. He couldn’t tell from the clothes if they were Upstarts or Laborers.
Do you like fucking the Party’s Jewel? Besha had asked him. How often does Verán give him to you? Does he ever struggle, or does he always just lie there?
Who the fuck cares? Ansha had wanted to snap. Why are you all so obsessed with Tilrey?
But he knew the answer. Verán had made it clear to him: Tilrey was “objectively superior.” No matter how hard Ansha tried to please, no matter how little effort Tilrey put in, Tilrey would always be the Jewel. And Ansha would always be second or third best. If a high name said it, it had to be true.
Ansha wasn’t jealous! Never mind what Tilrey thought. He didn’t want to be treated the way the Island Party treated Tilrey. But he did think Tilrey had brought that on himself. When someone was standoffish, full of himself, people were bound to try to take him down a peg.
Why was even Besha obsessed, though? Was it just that Tilrey had that hair, those eyes, that mouth, those shoulders, that cock? Or was there some special kind of allure that Ansha was too stupid to grasp?
The two men were closer. A light snowfall had obscured their shapes—but now, with a jolt, Ansha recognized them.
Tilrey—and Bror! Yes, he was sure of it.
As they walked, Bror bent his thick neck to address Tilrey in a companionable way. Ansha remembered evenings when he and Bror had walked to the tram stop in the Vacants, and Bror had inclined his head to Ansha just like that.
I knew it. I fucking knew it! Tilrey had insisted way too hard that he didn’t even like Bror. And Bror insisted equally hard that he was only interested in Tilrey as a fuck. But Ansha could read body language, and he knew Bror cared about Tilrey as more than a nice mouth and ass.
He wasn’t a total dunce, even if they both thought so.
He watched as his two fellow kettle boys veered off the trail and out of sight, heading for Verán’s villa. Where had they been together, and for how long? What would Verán do if he knew someone else had been polishing his Jewel?
Ansha wasn’t going to snitch, of course. The No. 1 rule you learned growing up in Ring Eight was never to fink on one of your own. And Bror and Tilrey were his own, even if Tilrey liked to pretend he was something better.
No, Ansha wouldn’t tell Verán or any other Upstart. But that didn’t mean he’d pretend he hadn’t seen them.
Behind him, footsteps padded across the thick carpet. Besha—Fir Linbeck—slung an arm around Ansha’s waist. “What’re you doing here?” he demanded sleepily. “Come back to me.”
Ansha let himself be led back to the warm bed and tucked in. He snuggled into the weaselly little Councillor’s embrace as if he were perfectly happy there.
Objectively superior, my ass, he was thinking. Someday they’ll all realize there’s nothing special about Tilrey at all.