Shae shoves his drenched hair back from his face and wipes the water from his eyes. “You don’t have to make excuses to touch me,” he says, turning around. “Unless you’re really excited about hygiene.”
Arthur laughs. “You got me. I’m a clean freak.”
Shae isn’t tiny, but he feels and looks like it under Arthur’s larger hands. He shivers with the first touch, leaning into the pressure as Arthur rubs the tense muscles of his shoulders. It’s not much of a scrub-down. They don’t have towels or soap. Just Arthur’s callused hands scraping against Shae’s skin, more a massage than anything else. The dirt washing away into the river is incidental. Even in the chill of the water, he feels Shae warming up beneath his touch.
“You said ages ago you could feel my aura,” Arthur says eventually. “Can you feel it right now?”
“Yes,” Shae breathes. His head tips back in pleasure, and his wet hair falls over Arthur’s hands.
“What does it feel like? Heat?”
Shae turns around in his arms, a hungry light in his eyes. He touches Arthur’s waist. His stomach. Places one hand at Arthur’s neck, thumb stroking over his pulse point. They press together, and under the water, Arthur feels Shae’s hot, hard cock slide up against his own.
“It’s warm,” Shae says quietly. “But it’s more than that. If you could taste sunlight, it would taste like you. I haven’t felt the heat of summer in so long, I’ve forgotten what it felt like. I’ve spent so long just trying to beless cold. Actually being warm was a pathetic fantasy.”
“Shae,” Arthur starts, heart pounding, but thin fingers cover his lips.
“When I’m near you,” Shae whispers, “I feel alive.”
The water runs around and between them, and living heat runs through Arthur’s veins, pulling him to Shae. He covers Shae’s mouth and swallows down every breath, every whimper he can get. Shae kisses back like a starving man, and Arthur wonders how he ever thought the necromancer was cold at heart.
He reaches between them and wraps his hand around both their cocks. Stroking them together is like liquid fire beneath Arthur’s skin. The slight friction through the water, the way Shae rocks against him, up into his hand.
Shae moans into his mouth. Bracing his left wrist on Arthur’s shoulder, he drops his right hand down to join Arthur’s. Their fingers twine together around their cocks, and with a few rough strokes, Shae breaks from their kiss. His forehead presses to Arthur’s chest, and he shudders through his orgasm.
Arthur quickly follows him, his lungs and veins filled entirely with Shae.
?
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Shae
The last few days to Lanwatch pass in a blur of heat and tender touches. They don’t go further than using each other’s hands again, and while Shae would like to do more, he’s overwhelmed enough with what he has.
In some ways, the paladin’s presence feels the same as ever. Warm, reassuring, companionable. Funny. But knowing his desire is returned, knowing that Arthur’s smile and the way he occasionally touches Shae’s arm aren’t just because he’s doing a job? Whenever he looks at Arthur and finds Arthur looking at him too, he can’t help smiling like a lovestruck fool.
“You’re cheerful today,” Arthur says, grinning right back. “Any good news to share?”
Shae tries to compose his expression, and fails spectacularly. “Oh, you know. It’s just such lovely weather.”
Arthur reaches out and takes his hand, lacing their fingers together. He doesn’t flinch when he touches silver, and Shae’s palm throbs with the contact. “You’re right,” he murmurs, pulling Shae’s hand up. “The weather’s gorgeous.”
Shae nearly combusts, all his blood rushing to his flushed face and his very interested cock, as Arthur kisses his knuckles.
They round the next corner together and come face to face with a bristling array of swords.
Shae nearly topples as Arthur shoves him back, and he can’t see much besides Arthur’s broad back. His heart flies into his throat, and he grabs for his knife.
A musical female voice rings out, “Halt there, travelers!”
The tension visibly eases from Arthur’s shoulders, and his hand leaves his sword hilt. “I didn’t know Riverswords were turning to robbery these days. Times must be hard.”
“Weapons down, darlings,” the same woman says. “Back off and keep watch.”
Shae steps around Arthur’s bulk. Seven men and women in well-worn leathers are sheathing their swords. Here and there is a flash of Riverswords blue—a scarf, an armband, a hat. One woman crosses her arms at the front of the pack, and the others step back to do her bidding, watching the road and the trees surrounding them.
“Apologies,” the woman says, though she doesn’t sound very sorry. She’s nearly as tall as Arthur, and though she’s far leaner, her bare arms are carved with muscle. Her black hair hangs in waves to her chiseled jaw, a wide streak to the left of her face colored brilliant Riverswords blue. “My little dears are jumpy right now. I’m Georgia Oakven. And you are?”
