Ekleipsis (Fantasy Romance - LGBT, manXman)

9.5

At the World's Edge night and day were relative terms, barely countable. Dame Tallian, though, saw to it that she wouldn't be caught with her own trick, and gave her guests a big hourglass. It was filled with tiny pearls instead of sand which trickled into the lower chamber with a faint rustling sound, marking the inexorable passage of time. There were marks for the Pandeian six-day week, and the lower chamber was filled halfway up the second mark when Ithildin and Kintaro started their inquest again.

This time they decided to switch from logic to guts, intuition, feelings. But all their attempts to use their supernatural abilities seemed to hit a blind wall. No doubt, Dame Tallian made sure they had only five normal human senses at their disposal. Even Ithildin's visions were useless, because no one of them was in mortal danger.

By sight, smell, ear or touch all three Chevaliers seemed identical, as triplets. Only their disposition was different. That wasn't any clue, because the real Alva was as changeable as the spring weather and could behave in any manner he chose. They were forced to admit there was no way of knowing for sure which one of the three was real. They could only choose at random and hope the choice would be the right one.

Dame Tallian was cunning as a demon. Instead of chains and manacles she used words and contracts, lies and illusions. Chains could be wrenched apart, manacles broken. Were they imprisoned, they could have broken free by force or by ruse. But it was so hard to fight the fog of lies, which shrouded everything, hid the right path, took away the ability to think straight, to believe in themselves.

Kintaro was gloomy, and Ithildin understood him without words. How would anyone feel if they knew the love of their life could be faked by some sorceress, and quite artfully too?

There was another reason for the nomad's gloominess: all three redheads were equally hot and desirable for him, so he was thrice as horny. But he still refused to dive into bed with any one of them, until he knew for sure who was who. Kintaro would never say, but he was haunted by a scary thought: he would make love to a fake Alva, and at the most inopportune moment see him change into someone else. Or something else.

He decided to calm his nerves by indulging in lust and debauchery. But Khattal suddenly raised a strong objection to debauchery.

"We don't drink wine, the Prophet forbids it."

"Ha, you drink your cactus moonshine!"

"Which the Prophet doesn't forbid. We aren't allowed only fermented grape juice. Khamra and koumiss are fine."

"He simply wrote his rules when khamra hadn't been invented yet. Or else he would have added it to the list. It's like forbidding to screw someone up the ass, but allow sucking him off."

"You aren't that far off. We can screw an infidel; it's not that great a sin. Say a prayer a hundred times over, and you are cleansed. But I don't screw men and don't touch a drop. Drop of wine, you moron!" he added hastily because Kintaro guffawed lewdly.

The barbarian had always considered such slips of the tongue in his presence as a veiled invitation. So, when the Arislani went to the bathroom, Kintaro waited a bit, winked at Ithildin and followed him.

The young man was leaning on the washstand, studying his own face in the mirror.

"Ah, came for the dick-measuring contest?" he barely had time to say before he was pressed to the wall with Kintaro's body, and his lips sealed with Kintaro's mouth.

Khattal tried to break free, but the nomad gripped him harder. He shoved his knee between the Arislani's thighs and gave a whistle. The Arislani was hard as a flagstaff.

"Looking in the mirror makes you horny, eh?" Kintaro mocked, breathing into Khattal's ear and squeezing his buttocks.

"Let me go!" the man hissed. "I'm not interested."

"You are. I can smell your lust."

Khattal turned his face aside, and Kintaro started to kiss his neck. A moan escaped the young man's lips, a shudder ran through his entire body.

"No man for a long time, sweetling?" Kintaro insinuated huskily, trying to untie Khattal's wide sash with one hand.

Judging by his vast experience, at this exact moment his prey would go limp in his arms and stop resisting, or even answer with equal passion.

No such luck! Khattal gripped his wrist with unexpected strength, and his fingers dug into Kintaro's skin with blinding, excruciating pain. Taken by surprise, Kintaro took a step back and swore through his teeth. He glanced at his wrist and just couldn't believe his eyes. There were crimson marks on it left by Khattal's fingers − burn marks!

Khattal's eyes were burning. Literally. His irises were blazing with orange and yellow flames.

"This spell is called 'The Hand of Ashurran'," he said mockingly. It was now his turn to sneer.

"I see you are burning with desire," Kintaro made a pun and came closer to Khattal in a smooth predatory manner. "Trying to inflame me?"

"You are taking big risks, chief. I'll rough you up."

The nomad quirked his eyebrow. "You should have said so from the start, not that lame 'not interested'."

"I'll tear your balls off and stuff them down your throat!" the Arislani hissed. His Arislani accent seemed to completely disappear.

Kintaro explained in simple and clear words exactly what he would stuff down whose throat.

Khattal flung himself on him, and they fought.

He was quick as a flickering flame, hot as a furnace, and after five minutes Kintaro was pressed to the floor, and Khattal squeezed his buttocks and breathed into his ear.

"Oh, you want me? You can have me, right now," he murmured, trying to pull the nomad's pants off.

The most horrible thing was that Kintaro was burning with animal lust, and the Arislani's rude groping aroused him even more. In the Wild Steppe there was no shame in yielding to someone who had beaten you in a fight. The same went for the jungle law which had been running in his blood since the metamorphosis. But Kintaro hated to yield. So he grinded his teeth, strained his muscles and threw Khattal off with all his strength.

Khattal was on his feet even quicker than Kintaro himself.

"Quit the virgin act, chief," he smirked. "Do you think it turns me on? Why, it actually does."

Kintaro was breathing heavily, trying to burn a hole in Khattal with his eyes. His eyes were too alit with fire − the yellow fire of the beast. Khattal beckoned him with his finger. "Come here, kitty."

It was insufferable! The damn Arislani usurped his own role, stole his own words, gained the upper hand, almost bent him over!

"By the way, the door is behind you," Khattal supplied with a wink.

It too was Kintaro's own remark. So many haughty metropolitan aristocrats yelled at him, "Unhand me, you arrogant brute!" And he would answer, "The door is behind you, baby!" Alva had asked after he heard some of those stories, "So, how many turned around and left?" "None."

Kintaro turned around and left. Actually, he ran out of the door as if scalded.

"The offer stands, if you change your mind," Khattal said to his back, his tone insufferably smug.

The nomad almost howled with fury.

The rest of the evening Khattal never said a word about the incident. He only looked at Kintaro sometimes, undressing him with his eyes. Before leaving he beckoned the nomad to accompany him in the corridor.

"Chief, I need to talk to you."

Instead of talking Khattal forced a kiss on him. Which was too long and passionate to be considered forced.