Page 77 of Sword Dance

“Will you sit up for me so I can take your shirt off?” Damiskos whispered presently. “If you’d like that, I mean.”

Varazda rolled forward pliantly, sweeping his hair out of the way. Damiskos peeled his shirt back over marble-white shoulders and down lithe, lightly muscled arms, exposing the beautifully tapering lines of his back. He ran his fingers gently in under Varazda’s hair, lifting it, and kissed the back of his neck lightly. That won him a shiver, so he carried on, skimming his lips over Varazda’s shoulder, the curve of his ear, darting out his tongue. That made Varazda giggle, so he did it again.

With another lover, Damiskos might have offered compliments at this point—he was not poetic, but he could articulate some simple praise of a beautiful body. But he didn’t think Varazda wanted compliments, or words at all, really.

He pulled Varazda back to lie against him as before. He slipped his hand all the way down into the front of Varazda’s trousers, where he found Varazda already hard, his hips thrusting up in a little wriggle to rub his cock against Damiskos’s palm.

There was a special pleasure in touching under clothing—Damiskos had learned that in Zash, where everyone wore so much more clothing—so he took his time again, teasing Varazda with light touches, fingers stroking the crease between thigh and crotch, lips soft on the side of his neck.

“Aren’t you … ” Apparently Varazda couldn’t stand it any longer. “If you want to … ”

“I’m fine,” said Damiskos truthfully. “What do you want?”

Varazda rested his hand on Damiskos’s through the fabric of his trousers, stilling his fingers on a silky thigh. He was leaning back against Damiskos’s shoulder again. He seemed to give the question some thought.

“I’d like to feel you naked against me,” he said finally. He pressed his face into Damiskos’s neck, and Damiskos could feel the blush warming his cheeks.

“I’d like that too.”

Varazda unfastened his trousers and shimmied neatly out of them. He twisted around to unbuckle Damiskos’s belt.

Damiskos wished he had taken his boots off after all. Even with Varazda helping, it was a much more awkward and less alluring process getting him out of his clothes than it had been for Varazda to get out of his.

Varazda didn’t seem to mind. He settled in Damiskos’s arms again, rubbing his cheek a little tentatively against the hair on Damiskos’s chest. Damiskos stroked the curve of his hip, circling his thumb around the soft hollow created by the muscles of his flank. Varazda’s fingers moved over the inside of Damiskos’s thigh.

“You probably need … ” Varazda began, trailing a finger lightly up the hot length of Damiskos’s cock.

Damiskos couldn’t help catching his breath sharply, but he whispered back, “I don’t need anything that doesn’t make you happy.”

Varazda didn’t seem to know what to say to that, and somehow Damiskos liked that, liked that he didn’t resort to an easy answer—“I’m sure I’d like anything you’d like,” or “It would make me happy to make you happy”—when it wouldn’t have been true.

“Here, I’ve an idea,” Damiskos said. “I like this a lot, and you might too.”

He wrapped his arms around Varazda, gently gathering him up and moving him down to lie on his side, still with Damiskos at his back. Then Damiskos reached around into his saddlebag for the oil that he used on his sword belt and his horse’s harness. He poured a little into his palm.

“Tell me if you don’t like it, all right?”

“Mm,” said Varazda noncommittally. He lay with his head pillowed on his arm, trustingly not watching what Damiskos was doing.

Damiskos parted Varazda’s white thighs and rubbed his oiled hand between them, anointing the soft skin above and below, his touch intimate and careful. He could feel Varazda tense, but without pulling away or making a sound. He carefully avoided letting his fingers touch the firm curve of Varazda’s ass. Withdrawing his hand, he lay down again on his side, bringing their bodies together, holding Varazda for a long, comfortable moment before he rubbed the tip of his cock against the slicked crease between Varazda’s legs.

Pleasure flooded him like strong drink, fiery and sweet; he felt drunk, dazed with it. He felt as if his body would fly apart, disintegrate, unless he clasped Varazda tighter.

Varazda reached around to spread his fingers on Damiskos’s hip, pulling him in closer, and Damiskos sank into silky heat, pressing deeper, his body flexing against the warm alabaster of Varazda’s. Belatedly, he remembered to put his hand down to envelope Varazda’s cock in his slick palm. Varazda cried out, pushing back and moving against him in tight undulations, the muscles of his thighs gripping Damiskos’s cock and grinding it against the sensitive skin of the place where Varazda’s legs met. Damiskos buried his face in the side of Varazda’s neck and groaned.

He felt fused with Varazda, twined like the strands of steel in a sword-blade. They moved together, slow and hot, held in a kind of tension for as long as they could manage, luxuriating in the simplicity and the aching insufficiency of their union. At last Damiskos came in a long moment like a shower of sparks. Varazda’s body arched and tensed against his as he came too.

They lay panting, loosely clasped together, for a languid minute before rolling apart. Varazda turned his head to look at Damiskos. His face was flushed.

“Do you really like that?” he asked. “That type of … whatever you call that.”

“Love it. Why?”

Varazda thought for a moment. “It’s so easy. Not painful. Doesn’t taste bad.”

“It’s also easier on my leg, to lie side-by-side like that.”

“I guess it would be.”