Page 50 of The House of the Red Balconies

“Shall we sit and drink?” he said, lifting his own bowl and looking at Hylas through the steam.

Hylas sipped his tea, still standing. “I, uh … Do you want to?”

Zo sipped his tea. “Not really.”

“Neither do I,” said Hylas quickly. “I just brought the tea because … ”

“Because you always bring me tea,” Zo finished for him.

Hylas nodded. “And I am certainly not going to stop now.”

Zo took another sip of his tea and set the bowl down on the table. He tugged at the tie holding his robe closed, and it slipped easily open. He wore nothing under it. The soft fabric of the robe slid back over his shoulders to his elbows. He stepped into the sunlight from the open door and smiled at Hylas.

Old instinct made Hylas tense and want to look away. He tightened his hands around the warm bowl of tea.

“I—I don’t want you to get cold,” he said absurdly.

“It’s warm in the sun,” said Zo, “and I am from the mountains of Eastern Zash. I can withstand the cold better than you might think.”

The sunlight glowed all down the side of his bare skin, the swoop and angle of his neck and shoulder, his smooth bare chest, the supple juncture of hip and groin and round thigh. His manhood was full, pink-tinted, and thick with desire. Hylas’s knees felt weak.

He set down the bowl of tea.

“What should I do?” he said, stepping into the sunlight. “You—you’ll have to tell me, I’m afraid.”

“I’ve been looking forward to it.”

Zo held out a hand, and when Hylas took it, he drew him closer, tipping back his head to invite a kiss. Hylas kissed him carefully, forced by his height to be the tentative initiator.

“I love the way you do that,” Zo murmured against Hylas’s lips. He still held one of Hylas’s hands, and now he lifted it and pressed it to his chest. “Touch me.”

“I—I am, it seems.”

He kissed Zo again, cupping Zo’s face with his other hand, Zo’s skin cool under his fingers. He ran his hand down Zo’s chest to his soft belly, palmed the gentle angle of his hip, slipped in under the fabric of Zo’s robe to cup the perfect curve of his rear. Zo’s arms twined around his neck. They swayed together as they kissed again, each pulling the other in, and Zo made an undulating motion of his hips that rubbed the heat of his arousal against Hylas’s, with only the fabric of Hylas’s clothing between them.

Hylas gasped, clutching at Zo’s delicate flesh. He felt himself almost on the verge of climax just from that little wriggle. That would not do. Zo would want more—deserved much more.

He was clasping a young man’s naked body to himself, his desire blatant, and he was not ashamed. But this was Zo, his dear friend, his beloved, for whom he would do anything.

“Can I—can I carry you to the bed?” Hylas whispered, his throat dry.

“Mm. Please do.”

He scooped Zo up, the way he had done the night before on the stairs, hands under his ass. Zo wrapped his legs around Hylas’s waist, and it was easy to carry him the few steps to his bed. There Hylas had some idea of setting him down and then sinking to his knees on the floor in front of him, awaiting instructions. But Zo didn’t let go of him, and they tumbled down onto the bed together.

“Ah! My prince, I⁠—”

“Something wrong?” Zo froze, suddenly attentive.

He was lying between Zo’s naked thighs, chest-to-chest, Zo’s arms around his shoulders, in the warm sunlight on Zo’s rumpled bed.

“No,” he admitted.

They kissed wildly, Zo’s mouth wet and eager, Hylas’s hands travelling over his body in long strokes. Now Zo was undoing Hylas’s belt and pulling his tunic off over his head, somehow without quite breaking their embrace. He ran his fingertips through the hair on Hylas’s chest as they kissed, smoothed his palm down Hylas’s bare back.

Hylas rolled onto his side to catch his breath and steady himself. He could do this, he told himself; it was a thing that required no great skill, and Zo would be gracious about it, no matter what happened. The thought comforted him.

He snuggled close to Zo and reached his hand down between their bodies to touch Zo’s manhood. It was hot and heavy and silk-smooth, and Zo gave a low moan when Hylas touched it. There—Hylas had known he would be gracious. He handled Zo’s member gently, a much slower version of the motions he used on himself when he needed release. His wrist rubbed against his own arousal, trapped inside his undergarment.