Ekleipsis (Fantasy Romance - LGBT, manXman)

1.5.

It was nearly morning when the Essanti had finally let go of Alva, and only after he was utterly exhausted. He fell asleep, still holding his lover possessively. Alva crawled out of Kintaro's embrace and staggered out of the tent. Every bit that could hurt in a human body hurt.

The sun was rising. The fires have blown out; light smoke hung over the coals. The horses, gently whinnying, grazed among the tents. Alva had no idea where his clothes went and was not going to look for them. The way to his tent was paved with naked bodies locked in embrace, and he had to step over them. He reached his tent and entered.

The elf was sitting by the back wall, with his chin on his knees. He must have been dozing, but, as Alva approached, lifted his head to look. The first rays of the sun shone through the opened flap of the tent and lit up the elf's face. It was as beautiful as Alva had remembered it, and just as impassive. Only the elf's gaze seemed to grow timid for a moment, as if the elf had suddenly realized that he was entirely at his new master's mercy.

Alva stepped forward. Whether it was something in Alva's eyes, or the sight of his manhood, still at half-mast, but the elf lowered his eyes, and flushed the barest of pinks. Then, with a soft sigh, he moved over, turned his back to Alva, and lay down on the pelts, his head buried in his hands and his legs spread apart. The sight of the elf, resigned and submissive, filled Alva with an overwhelming desire, even though he had never longed to dominate anyone before. He realized that soon his dark side would take over, unleashing the base instinct to attack, ravage, sate the lust. Alva bit down on his lip, hard, until he drew blood, and the pain sobered him. He turned and rushed back out of the tent.

He only got as far as the well on the outskirts of the camp. A heavy stone lid sealed the well from dust. Alva moved it aside with difficulty, and poured bucketfuls of freezing water over himself until he fairly shivered, lust forgotten.

He came back with a full pitcher, took the elf by the hand, and brought him out of the tent. He gestured at the elf to clean his face and wipe off the dirt with a wet towel. The elf was clearly uncomfortable under Alva's gaze, but at the moment Alva felt only boundless pity. In the growing light, Alva could clearly see the marks of the nomads' brutality on the elf's marble body, and felt tears welling up. He was ashamed of his recent desires, of what he did to the elf, ashamed of himself and of humanity in general. Pity that the memory of humiliation cannot be wiped as readily as the dirt. Inside the tent, Alva sat down the prisoner before him and rubbed a healing balm into his cuts and wounds. The elf's face remained the usual frozen mask, but his tense body visibly relaxed. He seemed to understand that a new ordeal might be at least delayed.

Chevalier Ahayrre tried to remember at least a few words in the Ancient tongue, but was stymied. He longed to tell the elf that he had nothing to fear from Alva, that he was safe from now on. Alva hoped that the elf would realize it eventually on his own, if he was still capable of understanding reality and had not chosen to dwell entirely in the realm of illusions.

Alva chose a simple tunic and pants of his for the prisoner and gestured for him to dress. The elf obeyed. Alva finally covered himself too, pulled out a comb, and brushed out his tangled red hair. Damn right they were tangled. Kintaro had had fun twirling Alva's hair all night long. Alva winced, feeling a bite on his neck. The Essanti were not famed for their temperament for nothing.

The elf glanced at Alva from underneath his long eyelashes. Alva saw that look, and held out the comb. The elf took it carefully, as if seeing one for the first time, and fingered it awkwardly. Then he tried to grip it, just as awkwardly, making Alva laugh and take the comb away. Alva remembered tales of the streams in the Great Wood; swimming where, it was said, de-tangled the hair and even wove it into braids or complicated hairdos. Either there was some truth to this story, or the Ancient Race used something other than a comb.

Alva got behind the elf and began to pull the comb through the thick strands of his long hair. He carefully held the strands at the root, and tried not to yank. Then he attempted to rub the dust off one lock and was rewarded with seeing the true color shine through — it was pearly silver, the color of moonlight. He also saw the famed pointy elven ears, concealed by tangled hair before. They seemed oddly touching.

Alva drew the comb through the elf's hair so delicately, it was almost a caress. It was easy to forget oneself, absorbed in this peaceful task, and imagine that it was a morning after a night of love ... Chevalier Ahayrre sighed. An elf loving a human? Hell would freeze over sooner. The Ancients hated people too much, and with good reason, Alva had to admit, especially in this particular case. Stopping this depressing line of thought with an effort, he put aside the comb and gazed approvingly at his handiwork. "Now then, you look almost like a human being," said Alva and laughed realizing how stupid he must have sounded.

He left the tent again, and came back from scavenging by the fires, with a few feast leftovers and some drinking water. The elf turned away from the charred meat at first, but, when Chevalier Ahayrre fell on the meat hungrily, joined him. The elf ate slowly and daintily. He looked like a prince, and belonged right at the royal court. Alva could not help admiring him.

After the meal, thinking that he had amply demonstrated his good intentions, Alva decided to make friends. In the cross-cultural way of linguistically challenged, he pointed a finger at himself and proclaimed, "Alva Ahayrre." He then pointed at the captive and raised his eyebrows in question. The elf merely lowered his eyelids and turned away. That was also a cross-cultural expression, that lacked only a contemptuous mien to spell, to the dejected Alva, a "Go to hell, pal."

Alva and Kintaro, fanart by Anna Valerius