“I know I must look dreadful, but I’ll be fine in a day or two,” Zelli assured her, although the mayor still had not asked. “Fae lineage can be uncomfortable,” he added, abruptly remembering that he had destroyed a pillow cover of hers and she had yet to speak of it. “Thank you. For everything.”
She inclined her head and her gaze was understanding, as it would be in a valley where fae traits appeared in the populace a bit more than they did elsewhere. Zelli nonetheless locked the door behind her once she stepped out, then fell against it to support his trembling legs.
The fire lit the room, but the heat was too much, so first he stumbled to the window to open it. He removed his clothes next, wanting only to be clean and cool, and then, while his fever was somewhat abated from the bath, devoured the bread with a thick layer of butter. He downed the tea as well, not bothering with spice or honey.
He might have to ask for water in the morning, depending on the duration of this fever. Or have Tahlen ask for him, since Zelli was certainly going to have to tell Tahlen everything.
With that hanging over him, Zelli tore through his packs, tossing his comb and some of his cleaner clothes to the floor until he found the remainder of his hair oil and the jar of the cream meant to leave his hands soft. Then he considered each, although neither was perfect.
His hair fell into his eyes as he fretted, slipping from the knot that had kept it out of the bathwater. He pulled the last cord free and didn’t bother to rearrange anything. His hair was the least of his problems.
On that thought, he returned the jar of cream to his pack. He’d use the oil, though it was thicker than was ideal and his hair would become unmanageable even to Tahlen for the rest of the journey.
Thinking of Tahlen’s hands in his hair was too much. Zelli’s knees buckled. He leaned against the bed until he steadied himself, then, panting, reached for his cloak, which had been left with his pack. Tahlen’s cloak was not there, but he told himself he didn’t miss it as he spread the wool over the bed.
He had destroyed enough of the mayor’s furnishings and would be too ashamed to ever meet her eyes if he damaged more. Several of the pillows went to the floor and out of his reach as well. Then, already starting to prickle with sweat again and aware that he didn’t have much time to find some release and clear his thoughts enough to seem reasonable to Tahlen, Zelli climbed onto the bed, taking his oil with him.
Tahlen might delay their conversation until the morning. He might prefer to spend his evening in the company of people who were not so bothersome or embarrassing. That might be best, even if it made Zelli roll over to whine into the wool of his cloak. Zelli could please himself uninterrupted and hopefully, assuage the lust-fever enough that he could travel with the others in the morning. He’d grow flushed and get hard all throughout the day, but he had already done that. He could even send the others on ahead of him. Tahlen would never go, and the guards’ welcome with Grandmother would be less certain, but Zelli was hardly going to make them wait while he hid in Mayor Sar’s inn touching himself and spilling buckets all over a cloak he’d never be able to wear again.
At least the fever had lessoned the itch for Tahlen to touch him, or just made Zelli less concerned with that particular ache. He found he could not bear the thought of Tahlen chasing after him to help with that when he’d rather be elsewhere, then finding Zelli like this and feeling duty-bound to stay with him.
Zelli rolled over again, seeking out the cold draft from the window only to immediately turn from it, wanting heat at his back. He kept his hands away from his prick to spare himself the chafing while he still had the mind to. Instead, he coated his fingers with too-thick hair oil and shut his eyes, not bothering to make it teasing or pleasant as he worked himself open. A foolish desire to prove himself, to help when he was useless. A foolish wish on top of that. Now he was here, where he would soon be begging the air to fuck him and, judging by today, crying out for Tahlen as he had probably done all along. But he wasn’t at home in his large room and his curtained bed. Others would hear unless he gagged himself.
Heat began to build despite everything, a tight, steady coil at the base of his spine, and then slow fire through his veins. He had felt Tahlen’s cock, his wicked brain reminded him. Against Tahlen’s will or not, Zelli’s body did not seem to care. Zelli had felt that right where his fingers were now, and no matter he pressed his teeth into his lip, he could not control his whimpers.
Maybe on the floor with the fire at his back he could better pretend he was not alone. He would burn, and sweat, and imagine Tahlen’s hand on his hip as it had been, immovable and bruising. Tahlen would keep Zelli still. He wouldn’t allow Zelli to push back no matter how Zelli moaned for him. Tahlen was stone that would not move unless he chose to, oath or no oath.
Not unless Zelli asked.
Or told him to.
Nonsense. Zelli had misunderstood what Tahlen meant. In any case, it would not apply to this. Tahlen would not replace Zelli’s frustratingly small fingers with his own and then the thick length Zelli had felt pressed to him that afternoon just because Zelli ordered him to. But the idea made Zelli writhe down on his fingers and whisper words of longing into his cloak.
His trapped breath was hot on his face. His words didn’t carry. But at the knock on the door, his heart leapt into his throat.
He stopped, wrist aching, stomach quivering.
Tahlen knocked again. “Zelli?” he called out, not loudly, but enough to be heard clearly through the door. “Answer me, please. I need to know you’re all right.”
“I thought you were downstairs flirting,” Zelli remarked breathlessly, then turned toward the door at the sound of Tahlen’s incredulous, “What?”
“You heard me,” Zelli told him with a fury so potent it surprised him. Imagining Tahlen, only yards away, clean and in the clothes he might wear for sleep or other activities did not calm him. “You ought to be somewhere with no irritating fae problems,” he informed Tahlen, no less breathless or angry.
“Zelli.” He couldn’t tell if Tahlen was also angry. “Is this about the,” Tahlen lowered his voice, “touching? Or earlier, on Starfall?”
How careful he tried to be, even when annoyed with Zelli. He’d probably ask like that even if he knew where Zelli’s fingers currently were.
Zelli slid them a little deeper, catching most of his whine before it could escape.
But not all of it.
“What’s going on?” Tahlen demanded immediately. “You told me you would tell me if there was anything I needed to know.”
Zelli closed his eyes. Though it left another unresolved ache to make him weak, he pulled his fingers free and wiped them on the cloak.
“Tahlen.” Zelli opened his eyes before tumbling from the bed, creating a series of noises that made Tahlen say his name again, this time with alarm.
Zelli got up and plastered himself to the door. His prick was only partially stiff, as it sometimes was when he used his fingers elsewhere, but he curled his hand around it. “Tahlen,” he sighed, cheek to the wood.
