“Ooh, sassy. Where have you been hiding the sassy side?” Petur’s grin faltered as Deyvid freed his enormous cock and took it in hand. It was too big for Deyvid to get his fingers all the way around the shaft, so he canted his hips forward and rubbed their cocks together. With Petur’s hand helping, they were able to get a rhythm going. Their slick, warm members rutted against each other, and it felt so intensely good that Deyvid hadn’t even come, and he was already seeing stars. He bit his lower lip, only to find it pulled from between his teeth by Petur, who looked at him with a bit of a frenzied expression on his face.
“I want your noises,” Petur insisted. “I want to hearyou. I want to hear the sounds you make when you come. I want you to come for me right now. Fuck, do it now.Now, Deyvid.”
Deyvid listened. His body responded, and he arched his back and pressed his hips forward and came in a delirious burst of pleasure so intense he went blind for a moment. His hands were next to useless, but Petur didn’t seem to require a lot of his participation at that point. The prince stiffened and came right after him, coating Deyvid’s cock in his release.
Coming down was slow and steady and delicious. Deyvid felt cradled in a bubble of warmth. He felt safe, welcome in a way he couldn’t ever remember feeling before in his life.
“There now.” Petur pressed another kiss to his lips, this time one with teeth, and Deyvid responded in kind. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Petur asked with a gasp as he pulled back at last.
“Certainly something to remember you by,” Deyvid murmured.
Petur’s eyes sharpened somehow as he said, “Hmm, we’ll see about that.”
Chapter five
Petur
In the end, it took them over a week to find the last group of mages terrorizing the border. In another life, Petur would have been annoyed by the inefficiency of it. He would have been irritated that the mages had learned from the mistakes of their fallen comrades, using everything from spells to physical traps to scent blockers to obscure their location. He would have railed about the waste of time and possibly even done something rash that might have gotten himself or his people into real trouble.
In this life, though, Petur found himself not only sanguine about the delay but satisfied by it. Every day they spent searching was another day he got to spend with Deyvid. And every day with Deyvid was one more chance to convince him to come back to Delomar.
The biggest sticking point was Deyvid himself, who was resolutely against the idea.
“The last place I need to be is in the capital of a country that loathes me,” Deyvid said flatly when Petur brought it up.
“Not every Riyalian loathes you,” Petur said.
“You only think that because you’re insulated from the things common people say about High Harriers,” Deyvid replied. “I’m not bothered,” he added. “No one likes us, not even our own people. We’re a necessary evil on the plains.”
“Why necessary, though?” Petur asked as they stretched their legs out by the fire on the fifth night of their fruitless search. “What is it about your abilities that makes your position a necessity for your people? From what I understand, Harriers aren’t dedicated magic users. So what advantage does not being affected by magic bring you?”
“Quite a bit in situations like this,” Deyvid pointed out, but Petur wasn’t going to let himself be redirected again. Deyvid was taciturn to the point of mute, and he had a way of turning questions around that made Petur forget what he’d been asking in the first place.
It was a smart habit, dare he say even a sexy one, but just because he appreciated it didn’t mean he wanted to fall prey to it when he was busy being curious. “Obviously, you’re very useful right now,” Petur said. “But neither of the countries your clans border have many offensive magic users. Bekkon’s too small to muster a comprehensive magical force, and well, you know how we Riyalians look at things. So why?”
Deyvid turned from Petur to gaze into the fire, the flicker of the flames reflecting in his pale eyes as he considered the question.
“We’re told,” he said after a minute, “that it’s a symbol of our dedication. Giving up our souls proves that we value our families over everything else, including the gods.”
“It’s surprising that the gods let you give up your soul, in that case,” Petur quipped.
“That’s the thing.” Deyvid shook his head. “They don’t. Nothing about how I was turned into a High Harrier had anything to do with godliness. It was …” He closed his eyes.“I can’t even really remember the process. It took a long time and started when I was very young. I remember feeling cold and dazed. I remember getting so skinny I could see my bones through my skin. I remember feeling sick for days on end …” Deyvid trailed off, then opened his eyes again. “Being a High Harrier is supposed to mean that my dedication to my clan and the will of our clan leader comes first and foremost.”
“But in your case, it didn’t,” Petur said.
“It did for years,” Deyvid parried. “From the time I was nine to the age of twenty, I followed my father’s dictates almost to the letter. I killed”—his gaze went hazy—“many people.Somany people, all on his command. I didn’t think twice about it at first or feel any particular sadness because of it. It was hard to feelanythingfor a long time. The only satisfaction I got was through obedience.
“Then eventually I married and had a daughter, and—”
“Wha—wait, what?” Petur sputtered as he held up a hand. “I’m sorry, what? You’remarried?”
“Not anymore,” Deyvid said easily, like he hadn’t just set Petur’s mind spinning. “When I repudiated my clan, I repudiated the marriage as well. I honestly don’t think my wife minded. We were never very close.”
“And you have a child?” Petur pressed.
“A daughter,” Deyvid said, a note of tenderness entering his voice. “Her name is Alie. She’s coming up on ten years old now.”
Petur felt his way through the next part cautiously. “You thought it would be best to, uh, leave her with your clan?”
