Lan held Fen’s gaze for endless moments or only one, then pulled in a deep breath and turned to the side. “Set yourself up where you like, except for in front of the entrance. Take furs from the bed. I… you can stay as long as you need. I’m not holding you here.”
He was out the door before Fen could react.
The camp had been mostly silent and dark when Fen had taken to his bed hours before. The furs were warm and made a more giving mattress than leaves, but Fen’s eyes were open when he heard Lan return to the tent.
Fen didn’t move except to close his eyes, listening to Lan removing clothes and his boots, the creak of the bed when he sat and when he must have settled beneath the bed’s remaining blanket of fur. Lan expelled one long breath and then Fen had to strain to hear his breathing at all.
He had grown used to Lan’s breath on his ear or in his hair, but could certainly make do without it. He opened his eyes again and turned onto his side as he done for the past few hours, feeling ridiculous each time he moved.
“Not warm enough?”
The hushed question startled him.
Fen looked up, but saw nothing but the vague shape of the bed and the body on top of it. He kept his voice to a whisper too. “I’m fine. Thank you.”
“Sorry if I woke you.”
Fen considered telling him the apology wasn’t necessary, but then he would have to explain that he hadn’t been asleep. He rubbed his cheek against the fur and sighed without meaning to. He couldn’t tell if Lan heard but nearly squirmed at the idea.
He was grateful he’d never felt anything close to this when in his father’s holding. Fen had been overly warm once or twice in the presence of others, but he had never been motivated to chase the feeling. Not there, not with others seeking to use him and The Acana judging any choice Fen might have made—a foolish worry, in any event, since The Acana only cared where Fen spent his time when it might benefit him.
But if Fen had acted on those feelings before, he might have had a better idea what to do now. With The Geon, he had anticipated not needing to do much, if it came to that. Fen would have preferred to stay out of The Geon’s bed altogether, but had imagined he would be invited there.
There would be no celebration over the act with The Geon as there would have been with the people of the Bal. Of the stories Fen’s mother had told him, Fen had always most liked the tales about their festivals and rituals that seemed to have origins in things they had once done with the fae. No one interacted with the fae anymore, not like that, not openly, but the Bal remembered. They wore costumes in the spring and the autumn to make themselves more fae-like: handfuls of dye in their hair, crowns made of antlers and animal horn, coats of fur, padding to give bodies curves where no curves existed, or tight bindings to remove curves already there. And when embracing one’s first lover, or taking a particularly special lover for the first time, no costume except for streaks of powdered dye, meant to stain the skin for days afterward so that all could know of their joy.
Fen had marveled at that when he’d been younger since it hadn’t seemed like something to celebrate. But he imagined Race would have enjoyed performing such a ritual with Dol if given the chance, though they obviously had been lovers for some time and probably had had others before each other—perhaps even still did, depending on their feelings.
Without intending to, he had already glimpsed some of what Race and Dol did with each other. They were open with their affection and desire and no one else seemed to mind, which was why Fen had caught them kissing more than once, and seen Race’s wandering hands and how Dol could lift Race off the ground and press him against a tree to kiss him harder. It was easy to imagine more of the same, but with their palms and then the rest of them stained scarlet or as yellow as the sun.
Race would be proud of the stains, though they would mean everyone who saw him bathe would know what he and Dol had done. Everyone would see the paths fingers had taken, where they had gripped or petted. If his cheek had been cupped as he was kissed, or if, wherever his mouth had gone, his hands had gone there first.
Fen brushed his fingertips across his lips, then down his throat light enough to tickle. Gentle or rough, all touches would show. Fen might undress and reveal where large hands had held his thighs, or where his own had been placed to keep his body open, letting everyone know he had been taken. He shuddered at the thought, worried and feverish. He might not enjoy the taking, but then again, he might, and he would know joy. Only his own, but he didn’t think Lan would be unhappy.
But the ritual was meant forsharedjoy, as far as Fen had understood it.
Knowing that didn’t draw the fire from his skin. He thought of sweeping his palms over Lan’s chest, and Lan lifting him, and what he’d feel to have Lan’s cock inside him, and he burned even when he knew the experience would be without color.
He turned, putting his back to the bed. He wished for breath at his ear although wishing was dangerous. The neck The Geon had paid someone to sing the praises of was exposed to the air and cold now. The shell of his ear as well. The rest of his body was stinging and hot. He rolled over again.
“Cub?” Lan asked in the dark.
Fen was out of the pile of furs in moments and then out of the tent. He didn’t stop to put on his boots. He went to the latrine trenches and then past them into the initial line of the trees.
When he crept back into the tent, embarrassed and still burning, Lan didn’t stir. Fen slipped into the cold furs and was glad to shiver. He pulled one fur over his head and closed his eyes.
Eventually, he slept.
Eleven
Lan’s voice woke him the next morning.
“Careful.”
“Careful?” Dol echoed curiously and swung around toward Fen when Fen sat up to blink at the morning light. Dol stared at him, then turned slowly to face Lan. His eyebrows nearly reached his hairline.
Fen didn’t wait to find out what Dol was bothered about, or even to confirm that Lan was up and dressed and had been letting Fen sleep. He grabbed his boots and a cloak, murmured, “Pardon, Dol, Lan,” then left to finish dressing elsewhere.
He waited until both of them were out of Lan’s tent before he returned to fold his furs and tuck them away. He pulled Lan’s bedding into place as well, and then grabbed Lan’s soiled clothing before leaving again.
