Far From Home Two: The Monster's Heir-- a M/M/M fantasy romance

27- The Letter

*****Trigger warning: mentions of suicide, pedophilia, and basically Butcger just being creepy-creepy. But just mentions— nothing detailed or anything.*****

SAGE—

The next week passed in a blur. Llyric and I spent our days learning Akari, and Akaran stories and traditions and the ways of life in the tribe, from Brin and Al'iya. Since I had a baseline of Akari, it wasn't long before I was picking up words and phrases. Since Llyric still refused to speak, I could only hope he too was beginning to understand the language as there was no way to gauge his progress in that regard. Though from the understanding in his eyes, and the way he sometimes directed me when Brin or Al'iya said something I didn't quite catch, I thought he was doing just fine. Better than me, most likely.

Brin and Al'iya taught us their language and culture while we helped them in their daily duties. I was used as basically a pack mule and high-place-reacher, and Llyric's soft hands were perfect for Brin's gentle work. He became quite adept at threading her looms for her, and even tried his hand at a colored quilt.

When we spent the day with Al'iya, we tended her garden, helped her mix her poultices and potions, searched the nearby forest for wild herbs, and even attended her to a few homes and farms to aid with the sick or injured.

My and Llyric's relationship with their Chief wasn't a secret, it seemed, as we were met in every home with open arms and a lot of food.

"Gods, these Akarans like to try to fatten up their guests," I joked to Llyric. Brin laughed as I made the observation aloud.

"You're the future mates to their Chief. They're trying to make sure you like them."

The words sobered both Llyric and me. I wasn't sure what Llyric was thinking, but the words frightened me just a bit. Was I really so ready to simply never return home? With being the mate to an Akaran Tribal Chief? To uproot my entire life, for his?

Each evening we ate in either Ember's suite or the dining room with the other members of the household. The chef, Smetikan— Kan, he had said to call him— a man with paler skin than normal for an Akaran, took in Llyric's skin and bones appearance the first time we met him and seemed to make it his mission in life to make the most fattening food he could think of. My waistline objected and I feared I might have to let out my belt from all the rich food, but it helped Llyric not at all.

Each night, we made love on Ember's furs. The night after we had shared Llyric's ass, Ember fucked me while I sucked Llyric to multiple orgasms. We hadn't wanted to push Llyric and hurt him, although it took some convincing. The boy seemed determined to spend as much time with us inside him as possible. He even managed to drag me into the brush a few times, dropping to his knees and very quickly bringing me to orgasm down his throat. I caught him doing the same to Ember one day after lunch, and I wondered how he had the stamina when he constantly looked as if he may fall over from malnutrition and exhaustion.

For he wasn't sleeping, as far as I could tell.

When he did manage to fall to sleep, he never failed to wake after too short a time, screaming. His wordless babblings quickly turned into wordless begging. After the first time, Ember and I never had his power overwhelm us again. I wasn't sure if it was because he was aware of it and holding it back, or if it was some resistance to it on our part. His cries still woke us, and we had to start taking turns sitting up and rocking him, holding him, so we could take turns getting some sleep.

The shadows under his eyes grew darker. His rib bones protruded through his chest and belly as well as his back, and his eyes grew duller as time went on.

"If it weren't for Llyric," Al'iya told me, through Brin, when I went to her on the third day we had been in Akar, desperate for an answer. "This is likely how all of the children would be. Instead, look at them— they flourish. Kye already nearly speaks fluent Akari, his mother says he sleeps through the nights and only occasionally flinches back from his father. And Tristan— gods, Sage, look at him. Yes, he's afraid of touch, and likely will be for a time to come, but he's learning a trade, he spends his days nearly singing with happiness. But your boy..."