This is a fictional story. The characters and events described herein are fictitious. The story and it's contents are the sole property of the author. It has been posted on the Nifty Story Archives page with the permission of the author. If you are offended by sex or sexual acts between two consenting males, or by a relationship between an older man and a significantly younger one please do not read any further. For the rest of you who don't need this read on and enjoy. Let me know what you think.
Copyright 2006
Chapter IV
They made their way south, Tristan and Kreshtar, walking from sunup to sundown as they could. A week and a half they walked, keeping to the wooded areas whenever possible and following the river. The days and nights were becoming progressively warmer as spring was finally starting to settle in. Though winter refused to give up its hold and the nights were still frigid.
As they traveled southward they came across outlying farms. Just a few humble dwellings at firs, the ones where those in residence probably lived off of the fruits of their own labors almost entirely. But the farther they traveled the more frequent they became, and the greater in size.
They avoided encroaching on anyone's land when they could, but for the larger tracts of land it was nearly impossible to discern where the estate began.
After they had come across the first dwelling, and subsequently avoided it a thought occurred to Tristan.
"You know," he began, "we are going to have to come up with a different name for you. The name Kreshtar is just too well known. And, try as we might, the farther we move south the more difficult and impossible it will be to avoid people."
"The thought had occurred to me as well," Kreshtar replied, pondering. "Anything come to your mind."
Tristan thought for a minute and a small grin spread across his face.
"Ateanis." he came up with happily.
"Ateanis?" Kreshtar repeated back somewhat dubiously. "Where'd you come up with that?"
"In the religion of the prevailing empire prior to the current one there were creatures known as the titans," Tristan began to explain. He wasn't quite lecturing, he was a little too excited for that, but he began to go on in great detail. "Now, in their stories of creation the titans were what came before the gods, in fact, the gods descended from them. The gods eventually overthrew and imprisoned the titans, but their remnants still remain, in some cases descendants that were due to the coupling of a titan with a mortal man or woman.
"One such descendant was Anteaus. Anteaus was a fierce warrior, one of the greatest. He also had a boon from being descended from a titan; so long as he was in contact with the land, with Gaia, mother earth herself, he was invincible, there were none that could harm him.
"Now the names are not the same obviously. But they just close enough that a mother living on the boarder between the wilder lands and the empire might have heard the story and named you after that figure."
"Ateanis," Kreshtar repeated, testing the name on his lips. After a moments deliberation he decided he liked it, and the story certainly appealed to him. "Very well then, Ateanis it is."
Tristan's smile grew to a grin, Kreshtar could not help but grin back, draping his arm around Tristan's shoulders he pulled the young man into him and placed a kiss on the top of Tristan's head.
"So where did you hear such a tale?" Kreshtar inquired, his curiosity piqued.
"From on of my mother's patients," Tristan explained. "Those who were beyond the abilities of the... I think they call them physicians, in the great cities to the south sought aid from another source. My mother had a very well known reputation and more than one such as that came seeking her talents. There were few she could not at least help. A couple even would talk with me, and I always asked about any legends that they knew. It was something I always enjoyed hearing about."
"Hmmm...," Kreshtar pondered again, "there is one more detail that needs to be decided. How do we explain you?"
"Oh," Tristan exclaimed with a dismissive gesture, "that's easy enough, I'm your nephew. I can still keep my name and I sincerely doubt we will run into anyone who knows me."
"My nephew, huh? I guess you've put quite a bit of thought into this then."
"Yeah," Tristan grinned again, sheepishly, "I kinda have."
They continued their journey southward, walking day in and day out, stopping so that Kreshtar could hunt and Tristan could forage for roots and other edible plants.
In the nights they always slept together, the evenings of mid spring still having a significant chill to them. More often than not they shared the treasures of each other's intimacy during the sunless hours. Tristan schooled Kreshtar in the arts of such intimacy, or at least as much as Tristan knew. Kreshtar did, indeed, prove himself a most ardent and apt pupil.
They had not yet had a repeat of their first night together. Tristan had to admit that he had been more than just a little brash that first night. He did not regret the act itself by any stretch of the imagination. But he had been sore for at least the better part of the week after and there had indeed been some blood. Not enough to raise his concern, but it was still there all the same. Kreshtar never pushed for it. He hungered for it certainly, but he would not force it on the boy. He had come to the conclusion that it would be a violation of a kind. A violation of Tristan's trust and of everything that had started growing between them. Kreshtar felt that he would never be able to bring himself to hurt the young man, it would never enter into his mind.
Tristan promised that as soon as they came across a town large enough to have a market place and they were able to pick up a few things then they could pursue a repeat performance. Kreshtar was hesitant to venture into any inhabited area. Simply the way they were dressed would arouse the suspicion of anyone they came across. But, as Tristan pointed out, while they had been doing alright there were certainly a few things that they could use to make life easier. And, admittedly, the thought of that first night is what finally decided him in the end.
Several days later it finally happened. This was the first living soul either of them had seen besides each other. The farmer just ahead of them was watering his oxen for his plow in the river when he looked up and saw the two travelers from the wild lands to the north.
He was instantly suspicious, there were far too many wild men to the north that would slit your throat and steel your purse as soon as look at you. The two men, one significantly younger than the other, looked to have an easy enough gait. But the large fellow had an equally large sword to match his stature slung across his back. The farmer was certainly put on edge to say the least.
"Ho thar!" the farmer hailed the two in very rough Norse, barely enough to be understood. "Wha' ye doin' on my land?"
"Good day to you," Kreshtar spoke glibly, slowing his pace and stopping when he approached ten paces away. "We're just traveling south towards the capitol my good man, we mean you no trouble."
"Hmph," the farmer snorted derisively, "ye be travelin' south thar roads fer tha', best stick to 'em an' be off with ye now. I'll not have strangers, an' wild folk at tha', traipsing about my land."
"We mean you no trouble good neighbor," Kreshtar said almost through gritted teeth, he had very little patience when dealing with people who were outright rude. "And as far as the road goes, what better road to follow than a river bank? Fresh food and water always provided, if a man can catch the food at least, and one less place for someone to rob you from. We figured it would be the safest route to travel, what with the battle taking place up north."
"Funny ye should mention tha'," the farmer shot back, his suspicion deepening. "I'd figger a big man wit' such a weapon ta wield would be in tha thick o' it. Why aren ye up thar wit all tha rest o' tha savage men?"
Kreshtar bit back a retort and his temper. It would do no good to pick a fight with this country bumpkin.
"I'll not raise my sword till what's mine is threatened. The armies up north have yet to come up against me and mine. Till then I've no quarrel with them."
"Tch," the man spat in disgust, "tha's tha probem wit' ye wilders, no organ'zation, no community. Ye all could'na give a whit less if yer own people is slaughder'd, so long as yer li'l homes naw be bother'd.
"Fine, follow tha river through my land, but be sure ye don' stray from it."
"Tell me," Kreshtar spoke as politely as he could, with much difficulty, "how far is it to the next town?"
"Hmph. Keep followin' tha river 'bout three day's trek south, two if yer quick 'bout it. Now, git movin'."
"Thank you, a good day to you neighbor," Kreshtar said with all the politeness he could muster. The farmer just save another derisive snort, eying them till they were out of sight.
"Maybe this isn't such good idea," Tristan admitted apprehensively. This was the farthest sough he'd been and while it was exciting there was just a touch of fear and anxiety.
"They're not all like that," Kreshtar reassured him. "He's one of the more ignorant ones I've come across. The towns will be easier to move around in. We will still stand out, but they get more people from different places coming through, particularly if they have a river port. Everything will be alright. Besides, you have me. So long as we're together nothing will happen."
Too much, there was simply too much to see. Tristan stared openly and wide eyed at everything. The buildings, while most were made of wood and thatch, which he had seen before, stood tow or even three stories high. Some even had tiles instead of thatch. There were even some buildings scattered about that were made from stone. Great buildings made out of enormous blocks of hewn rock. Tristan had heard stories before, but his imagination could not have conjured such structures.
The sounds were nearly overwhelming, all combining to create a continual underlying din where ever they went. Tristan was not so sure he liked the noise, it was just too much for him. But the bustle of the people coming and going interested an excited him, so much going on. The people themselves were fascinating, and nearly innumerable to him. There must have been hundreds, maybe even a thousand or more. Back in his village there were maybe one-hundred to sometimes as many as one-hundred and fifty people in residence, but that was including all the women and children. A gathering of thirty or forty people was considered large. This dwarfed anything he had ever seen by far.
There were sights and smells that tantalized his senses and they were all assaulting him at once. They had already passed a number of stall with vendors selling their wares. Everything imaginable was being sold. Bolts of differently colored cloth, some that shimmered in the bright, fresh spring sunlight, others that looked softer than fur to the touch. Stalls that sold hot meats in juicy sauces wrapped in some sort of fresh baked bread. Stalls selling fish and dried fruits and vegetables, or herbs and spices, some of which even came from the far east. There were stalls selling jewelry and finely crafted metals. It seemed to Tristan that one would merely have to ask and your hearts desire could be offered up to you, for a price.
Kreshtar watched Tristan's eyes dart from one sight to the next, it was like watching a child at his first winter solstice, delight and wonder and fascination beyond imagining.
Kreshtar had been in a few cities before, but this was certainly the largest, and he knew for a fact that this was not the biggest. The capital of this empire lay farther south still. He had heard stories from those who had dared venture that far. If even half the things those men had said were true then the city itself was a spectacle to behold indeed. He leaned down to Tristan's ear to be heard above the noise.
"We should probably find a room for the night before we get to carried away."
"Alright," Tristan agreed," where do we look for an inn?"
Kreshtar spotted what he thought looked like one up the way. In his experience with places like this he knew that you only needed to wander a bit to find a place, quality was another issue altogether however.
They stepped inside the two story wooden building out of the bright sunlight. The first floor looked like it consisted of a tavern with a surrounding balcony on the second. The room was simply furnished but neat and orderly, the tables and benches polished to a high finish. A large fire place filled up one end of the room while the other was taken up by the bar and the subsequent innkeeper. The wall opposite them had a small raised area that seemed like it would be a source of entertainment when more patrons filled the tavern.
Kreshtar walked over to the stout man with a round face and a shining pate.
"A... room... would... we... two... desire," Kreshtar stumbled through his broken Latin.
"A room you tow gentlemen shall have then," the innkeeper said in a surprisingly good rendition of Norse. It was heavily accented by Latin, which was obviously the man's native tongue, but he spoke well enough to be understood easily. The innkeeper smiled at Kreshtar's obvious surprise.
"I've a fair number of fur traders from the north that come here to partake of my hospitality on their way to other markets. Now, a room for the night will cost you three pieces of silver. The accommodations may not be fancy but they are always clean and I respect my patrons' privacy if you respect the privacy of your fellow patrons. Dinner is served promptly at sundown during this season and we have one or two people on our staff who can entertain you for the evening on our stage. Antigone, one of our serving girls, has a voice that Venus herself would be jealous of and our head cook, Mathias, is a master of storytelling. I am Marcus, your host and the proprietor. Now, will you be joining us for an evening?"
Kreshtar was somewhat taken aback. This certainly had to be the warmest reception he had ever received. He dipped his hand into the pouch at his side and retrieved one of the pieces of gold and slid it across the counter to the man.
"My nephew and I require a room, and if I am insured our privacy for the evening you may keep the rest beyond the three silver. Besides, I am quite a hearty eater, I do not mind paying a little extra to make sure I go to sleep tonight with a full belly."
"Well then!" the innkeeper Marcus said in a genuinely delighted tone. "We will be happy to accommodate any needs you wish. Not all my patrons do, but if you've a wish I can give your names to the proprietor of the baths just a short walk away and he will give you a good rate on freshening up. He and I are old friends," Marcus confided in a conspiratorial tone. "And if you need to know where anything in the city is please feel free to ask. By the way, what are your names good sirs?"
"I am Ateanis, this is my sister's son, Tristan," Kreshtar gestured to each of them in turn.
"Well then Masters Ateanis and Tristan, what business may I ask brings you so far south?"
Kreshtar had actually thought about this one and, in his opinion, come up with a decent story.
"My nephew Tristan here seems to have a healer's touch. My sister has asked me to take him to the capital to be apprenticed to the physicians there." Kreshtar explained.
"My, my," the innkeeper looked duly impressed. "Well, then you two have a journey ahead of you. Do you have any horses? I can have our stable boy take care of them for you."
"We unfortunately lost a good deal of our provisions along the way due to unfortunate circumstances, including our horses," Kreshtar explained. "We will actually need to pick up some in the market. If you could direct us to a fair merchant for horse flesh it would be most appreciated."
"Absolutely," Marcus directed them to a stable, with fair prices as well he assured them. And he promised to run their names over to the baths as well, the man who ran them would be ready for the two of them by the time they finished their business in the market.
"One request I do have of you Master Ateanis," Marcus added onto his long winded speech, "when you return for the evening and have no further plans to venture out I would ask that you leave your weapon in your room. I mean no disrespect and am not commenting on your character sir, but I find that when some men get too much to drink they see such displays as an open challenge. I'm fairly certain that you do not start trouble, but a man that carries such a blade is used to trouble finding him."
"Very well," Kreshtar conceded, "I will leave the sword in our room for the evening, but I will keep my knife with me. A man as keen as yourself to recognize the mere presence of such a weapon as a possible conflict would know that the presence of a man of my stature would also be a source of, conflict, as you put it, in the company of such men."
"Too true, too true," Marcus conceded in turn. "I've no problems with that, though I'll warrant that a man such as you has no real need of the knife either in such a situation. But I'll not deny you that, indeed I know it is only too true.
"Well then, if you don't leave for the market now I'm liable to talk your ears off. I shall expect you this evening with a hot meal and a room prepared. Till this evening gentlemen," and with that the innkeeper busied himself with other work. Kreshtar stood their for a moment, still taken aback. He had had innkeepers and tavern masters refuse to put him up for a night or even serve him, and many times that was without knowing his reputation. The measure of hospitality extended him here had him well and truly thrown.
Tristan tugged on Kreshtar's arm, eager to be off. Still so innocent, Kreshtar thought, despite everything he has been through he still doesn't realize what a rare thing it is for the innkeeper to have given us a room at all. Let alone acting in a kind manner and the truly rare addition of knowing their language. Truly rare indeed. Kreshtar felt no qualms at having paid the man extra and did not begrudge the request of leaving his sword in his room.
He finally gave in to Tristan's eagerness, playing well the part of the indulgent uncle.
Tristan had thought the other streets busy, he knew now that that had been a gross misconception on his part. The market place was was packed. There were so many people that in some places they literally had almost no room to move through the press of bodies.
People, however, gave them a wide berth. Tristan didn't think it was because they were quite obviously northerners. He saw others amongst the endless crowd of people so it was not unheard of to see such as them this far south. No, he suspected that the reason he and Kreshtar had little trouble navigating the streets full of people was largely due to Kreshtar's size and the size of the blade on his back.
The stable man had indeed been helpful and the prices fair, for the most part. Their fortune in finding an innkeeper that spoke their language had not extended much further. Bargaining with the various men men at their stalls had been frustrating at best when neither party spoke the same language. Tristan knew some Latin, more than Kreshtar at the very least, due to the fact that his mother did not refuse to help someone if they could pay, sometimes not even then. As a result Tristan had learned a fair portion, he was far from fluent though and he had a feeling that some of the stalls they purchased things at overcharged them.
For the most part though, things went well. They purchased two horses, a light and agile horse to carry any extra provisions and a large, strapping stallion to ride. Kreshtar's size made purchasing a horse that was any smaller outright impractical. The price had been steep, nine gold pieces total for both, but it was fair. Other than that they had only purchased various odds and ends for traveling. A proper blanket, and a good fur cloak for Tristan were amongst some of the purchases. But the one that had Kreshtar perplexed was a purchase of oil, olive oil to be specific, three pieces of silver a piece for both of the two clay flasks that Tristan acquired.
"What are those for?" Kreshtar inquired somewhat askance.
"You'll see," Tristan relied enigmatically, flashing his signature grin up at Kreshtar. They had all their goods sent on to the inn. When all said and done they were left with about ten gold pieces and four silver.
"Well then," Tristan said after they had completed their last transaction, "shall we go visit the baths like the innkeeper suggested?"
"Sounds like a good idea to me," Kreshtar said, smiling down at Tristan, "it's been a while since I've had a good bath."
They made their way through the streets using the directions the innkeeper had provided them with. It was relatively easy to find, a large stone building with big, elaborately carved wooden doors. Inside the air was misty and humid with the faint hint of fragrant oils and soaps.
A slender woman with dark hair, almond colored eyes and fine linen girded about her graceful frame and held in place at either shoulder with a small silver clasp approached. She greeted them in a cordial tone and, from what Tristan could make out, asked what their business was.
"We came for a bath," Tristan stumbled through his Latin as best he could.
"A silver piece each then," the woman replied politely.
"My name is Tristan and this is my...," he couldn't think of of the word 'uncle' in Latin, "this is Ateanis."
"Ah, of course," she said, her tone changing to a more friendly one. She hadn't been unfriendly before but her manner had been somewhat reserved. "Marcus sent word that you would be by." She was obviously trying to talk so that Tristan could understand her, for which he was greatful. "It will be one silver piece for the both of you then, and a private bath as well. The usual treatment for any of Marcus' customers. Right this way." Kreshtar placed the required silver in her hand and she led them down a corridor away from the main area.
They walked past several wooden doors till she stopped and stood beside one and held it open for them, gesturing inside. Tristan and Kreshtar stepped through, the door closing behind them.
The air was heavy with steam which started to bead on their skin. In the center of the room was a sizable circular pool lined with tiles and steam rising from the surface. A small waterfall fed the pool spilling from a small stone fountain that jutted out from the wall churned the water at the far end. To the side was a large stone bench that followed the curve of the pool for about a quarter of the distance around and atop it sat a couple of neatly folded pieces of linen, presumably for drying themselves afterwards. Right next to the linens were three small bottles filled with oils, a large chunk of scented soap that looked like it had an herb of some variety mixed in and a simply wrought metal comb.
Kreshtar moved to the bench, removing his sword as strode. He began removing the fur cloak and other articles as Tristan moved over as well. Tristan watched from a few feet back as Kreshtar removed everything he was wearing. The smallest and simplest habits of this bear of a man had become fascinating to Tristan. One might think that due to his size Kreshtar might move with clumsiness and blundering. But in reality the man moved with a grace and fluidity not readily apparent. The gestures were small and reserved, but had a familiarity to them born of years of long practice and honing. Above all the sword on Kreshtar's back was the thing he took the most care with. He handled his implement of death gently and with reverence.
At length he finished unlacing his boots, removed his loincloth and stepped down into the pool. The water came up to his waist, which meant that it would cover the better portion of Tristan's torso. Kreshtar turned and faced Tristan who stood by the bench. Kreshtar watched as Tristan removed his boots and loincloth, the only things the boy had on him. Kreshtar stretched out his hand, beckoning Tristan down into the pool with him. Tristan took the hand extended him, stepping down into the pool.
The water was as hot as the steam rising off its surface promised, just this side of being too hot. Tristan could feel the muscles in his legs begin to relax as he became accustomed to the heat of the water. Kreshtar drew Tristan into the circle of his arms, pressing their bodies together. Tristan looked up into those hazel eyes, eyes the color of tree branches with the first buds of spring shooting from their tips. It seemed that no matter how long Tristan spent with this man, looking up into those eyes always made him feel very small and almost helpless. Yet by the same token, looking up into those eyes also told him that he was treasured, that he was precious. To look in them was to both lose and find himself in the same instant in those eyes.
Kreshtar looked down at Tristan, the boy's features quickly loosing the softness of childhood and turning into a man's. Before Kreshtar knew it this boy would be a man full grown. Time was a precious thing to him now, where as before he was indifferent towards it. Looking in Tristan's eyes Kreshtar thought that they resembled a faun's eyes, or more rather a young buck or a heart. Easily frightened or startled, but so trusting. Those light brown orbs spoke volumes, saying that they knew he would never hurt them or let them down. Kreshtar, not being a very religious man under normal circumstances, prayed a silent and fervent prayer that he would never fail to keep his word to Tristan.
Kreshtar bent his head down and Tristan rose up on his toes to meet him. Their lips met and Tristan melted that nearly imperceptible last little bit of distance into Kreshtar. Kreshtar had learned his lessons in love making from Tristan very well indeed. He ran the tip of his tongue over Tristan's lips, caressing them and reveling in the smooth texture.
Tristan ran his hands over Kreshtar's arms and shoulders, feeling the bumps and ridges and gnarls of muscle underneath the skin almost like the bark of a tree. That was how Tristan had come to think of Kreshtar, less beast and more like the Oak King made flesh among men.
Kreshtar was kneading Tristan's back and the swell of his legs, running his hands along the curve of Tristan's gluteus. Kreshtar lifted Tristan by his waist and pulled the young man up to him. Tristan obligingly spread his legs and wrapped them around Kreshtar's torso, feeling his stirring manhood pressed between their bodies. Kreshtar probed Tristan's mouth with his tongue deeply, savoring the taste and rubbing his tongue across Tristan's.
"Mmmm..," Tristan gave a contented moan and pulled back from the kiss. "If we don't stop now there will be no stopping till we're finished. And I have a little something planned for tonight. Besides, we really should get clean."
"Alright, for tonight then," Kreshtar grudgingly agreed.
Tristan gave Kreshtar his coy smile, the smile that was at once both sweetly innocent and diabolically devious in the same stroke, it was something Kreshtar had an honest difficulty resisting. Tristan turned and lifted himself up on the edge of the pool reaching for the chunk of soap on the bench. He turned and sat on the lip, legs dangling in the water and held the soap up to his nose. He inhaled deeply; rosemary, how fitting. This man always did remind him of trees and the forest, so it seemed right that the soap smell like pine and fir trees.
"Come here," Tristan beckoned to Kreshtar. Kreshtar walked over to where Tristan was sitting on the edge and laid a hand on either of Tristan's legs.
"Turn around," Tristan motioned to him.
Kreshtar turned and Tristan circled his legs around Kreshtar's torso. He leaned over and dipped the chunk of soap in the water and began to work up a lather. Kreshtar leaned back into the boy and let Tristan run his hands over his torso, spreading the soap across his chest and stomach. Tristan took his time with washing Kreshtar, enjoying the feel of Kreshtar muscles and the scent of the rosemary in the soap. He ran his hands over Kreshtar's shoulders and arms and also began to lather up his hair. He pushed forward gently against Kreshtar and started to wash the man's back. This had been a very good idea, Kreshtar concluded.
Tristan finished with washing Kreshtar's upper body and let the man go. Kreshtar ducked himself under the water and washed his hair out. He turned to Tristan and gestured for the soap and followed the same procedure for washing the boy. Tristan could have melted, the heat of the pool combined with the strength in Kreshtar's arms and hands as he washed Tristan was beyond relaxing. At length Kreshtar finished and let Tristan rinse himself off.
Tristan reached for the soap and having acquired it from Kreshtar began to wash his legs and lower extremities. He took particular care to make sure to clean between the swell of his legs, where leg met torso. Then he handed the chunk to Kreshtar who followed suit as well.
They set the soap aside, the chunk considerably lessened, and Tristan again sat on the lip of the pool, gesturing Kreshtar to him. Kreshtar moved to Tristan as Tristan leaned over and grabbed the metal comb on the bench. Taking up the same position as when the soap was employed, Tristan began to pull the comb gently through Kreshtar's hair. There were knots to be sure, there always were with hair. But the soap had been able to take care of the majority of them. Tristan pulled the comb through again and again, making sure that he missed nothing. Kreshtar's hair was beautiful. Falling down to the middle of the man's back it was a deep rich brown, almost black. Almost the same color as rich planting soil. Yet here and there there were flecks of sun-streaked gold that flashed when the light hit them just right, like the color of summer ripe wheat.
Tristan finished with combing Kreshtar's hair and began to braid it, like his mother had taught him to braid her hair. He began humming softly, not really intending to make any tune. Yet the tune came to mind unbidden, the tune that Kreshtar had hummed a few days ago. He was able to hum it relatively well, and Kreshtar started to hum with him, filling in any parts that Tristan didn't know.
Tristan finished braiding Kreshtar's hair. Kreshtar leaned back and reached for his pouch, procuring a leather thong intended for just such a purpose and handed it to Tristan. Tristan fixed the thong at the end of the braid and tied it off.
Kreshtar turned to face Tristan and as he did Tristan noticed something he did not, could not have expected. This giant of a man, this ferocious monster that had slaughtered near innumerable men on the end of his blade, this man had tears in his eyes. It was the last thing that Tristan had ever expected to see.
Kreshtar noticed Tristan staring, and gave the small boy a sad, sorrowful smile.
"I don't know what it is about what has just happened," Kreshtar murmured, "but there is something about what you did, combing my hair, braiding it, and humming that tune all the while that evokes something from me, something that I feel I should be able to remember. I think in my minds eye I can almost conjure a face, and a warm smile on it. But it is still shrouded in a thick mist, all of it." Kreshtar's eyes had gotten a faraway look, like he was indeed looking at a face clouded in a dense fog. Tristan reached his hand up and cupped Kreshtar's cheek.
"I'm sorry," the boy whispered, looking almost on the verge of tears.
"Don't be," Kreshtar murmured gently to Tristan, "this is something precious that you have done for me, even if I can't remember the face or the person, I can recall the feeling. Something from a distant long ago time when my life was not always violence and bloodshed. Sometimes it is difficult for me to remember that there has ever been anything else.
"Come," he said, placing a kiss on the top of Tristan's head, "let us finish our business here. If you've a plan for this evening then I would hasten the fall of night were it in my power. As it is I think i will have to chase their god Apollo in his chariot across the sky to quicken the coming of night."
Mirth spread across Tristan's lips and face and it looked to Kreshtar that the young man honestly felt like Kreshtar could pull off such a ridiculous act. Every once in a while, when he held this young man in his arms, Kreshtar almost felt like he could.
Kreshtar combed Tristan's hair in turn, following the same manner that Tristan had. And, drawing another thin leather thong from his pouch, proceeded to braid Tristan's light bark colored hair, humming the tune that he was coming to see as belonging to the both of them.
"Well," Kreshtar said, almost with reluctance, "I think we're finished."
"Not quite yet," Tristan contradicted, "you're forgetting one last step." And with that he got out of the pool and walked over to the bench. He gently and carefully moved all of their belongings to the floor a few feet away and picked up one of the linen squares. He spread it out over the length of the bench and gestured for Kreshtar to lay down.
Kreshtar hoisted himself up out of the pool and laid himself face down like Tristan told him to, wondering what the young man had in store for him now. Tristan pulled the stopper off one of the bottles provided for them and lifted it to his nose. Rosemary, again, it shouldn't have surprised him, but it was nice.
Tristan poured some of the oil on to Kreshtar's back, letting it make a small pool just at the small of his back. The sensation of the oil traveling down the length of his spine sent sent a small shudder up Kreshtar, and it very faintly tickled.
Tristan began rubbing his hands in the oil and spreading it across Kreshtar's back. He ran along the lengths of muscle, massaging them and kneading them as well, making sure that the oil spread out evenly. Kreshtar began to grunt his approval. Tristan moved to Kreshtar's legs, going back for more oil as needed. This was a part of his craft, but he also enjoyed the excuse to handle as much of Kreshtar as possible, not that he needed an excuse. He worked his way up Kreshtar's legs, coming up to the sizable swell of the man's gluteus.
Kreshtar hadn't thought he could possibly be any further relaxed after the hot bath, he had been sorely mistaken. It seemed like his body was clay in the boy's well trained hands.
"Alright, now the front," Tristan said with an air of authority.
Kreshtar dutifully flipped over, giving no heed to his very obviously aroused state. The sight of his fully erect manhood was a view he was certain that Tristan was intimately familiar with by this point. Tristan trickled a small stream of the oil down the front of Kreshtar's torso and began to repeat the process. The thought occurred to Kreshtar that if it weren't for the bones in his body he would probably slide right off the bench.
Tristan worked his way lower on Kreshtar's torso, sliding his hands along the miniature foothills of the man's stomach and the small plane just before coming to the rigid sex. A mischievous thought popped into Tristan's head and he began to massage the turgid spear and the large globes beneath it. Kreshtar let out a low groan as Tristan ran his hand over Kreshtar's hard length.
"If you keep that up for much longer mi'lad," Kreshtar breathed, "then I will be forced to take measures into my own hands and go back on my word to wait for this evening plan of yours."
Tristan gave a small bark of laughter, but ceased his attentions on Kreshtar's sex.
"Very well, then," Tristan said through what Kreshtar would have called an honest giggle, "think you could replicate the process on me?"
"I don't think I'll be nearly as good as you are at it, but then this wouldn't be the first time that that has been the case," Kreshtar responded coyly. "But as we have learned in the past, I can pick things up rather quickly, if you let me practice."
Kreshtar stood, his legs and other muscles responding surprisingly well despite how languid he felt. Tristan laid face down on the bench and heaved a great sigh as Kreshtar began rendering the same treatment. Kreshtar found that he liked being the one doing the massaging almost as much as he liked being the one massaged. He wasn't able to completely replicate what Tristan had done to him, but, judging from Tristan's reactions, he figured that he was at least doing a passable job.
At length Kreshtar finished rubbing Tristan down and they both dipped themselves back in the pool once more to get rid of any excess. They dried each other off with the other square of linen and replaced all their belongings on their persons.
As they left the bath Kreshtar reached down into his pouch and lobbed another silver at the woman attending the front door. She flashed him a grin and pocketed the tip waving them good bye as they left.
Time had not stood still while they had been bathing. The day was drawing to a close and people were making their way home for the evening. The streets were quickly becoming deserted and they had no trouble navigating their way back to Marcus' inn.
When they stepped inside the common room there was already a fierce blaze going in the fireplace. A few people were already seated at various tables and partaking in food that smelled mouth-watering and big mugs of mead. Marcus spotted them from behind the counter and waved them over.
"A good evening to you both good masters," Marcus greeted them warmly. "We received all the goods you had sent on to us, including what I may say is a fine looking pair of horses. Of course, you'll have to check all of the items over to know if everything is truly there or not, but everything that was sent our way I took the liberty of placing in your room. Well then, if you're ready I can fetch you supper, a fine venison stew, the meat fresh from this morning, and fresh baked bread from our own ovens, and a tankard each of the best mead in the house.
"I assume that you are going to make a trip up to your room before joining us for dinner, Master Ateanis?" Marcus gave Kreshtar a meaningful stare, "I'll be sure to get your nephew, Master Tristan, situated at a table with a good view and close to the fire."
"Of course," Kreshtar gave Marcus a smile and a bow of the head. He hadn't thought that the innkeeper would forget about the discussion about the sword, but it had been a little blunt. Kreshtar wasn't going to quibble, the man had been gracious as far as he was concerned. This was a small price to pay for being able to stay the night.
Kreshtar opened the door that Marcus had directed him to. He found that the accommodations were in the same fashion as those downstairs, simple but clean. There was indeed a small pile of goods neatly arranged in the corner next to the door. The door even had a bolt on it, which was something that Kreshtar greatly appreciated.
Kreshtar took a moment to inventory everything that had been sent, and it seemed that it was all in order. Kreshtar heaved a sigh and moved over to the bed. Slipping the leather strap that held the sword in place over his head, he set the blade down on the fur blankets almost lovingly. This blade had been his longest companion, and prior to Tristan, his only real companion. One of the earliest memories that he had was of waking up in the dead of night with only the stars above and the forest surrounding him. And the sword, the pommel of the sword gripped tightly in his fist. That was all of eighteen years ago, at least. Sometimes it was hard to remember exactly how much time had passed.
At that time the sword had been almost as tall as he was, but then he had also been big for that age. The skill to use it had almost been inborn in him, or at the very least had come very naturally, like a fish to water or a bird to the air. And he had honed that natural aptitude into a skill as sharp as this blade itself. It had been a long hard road, and he had a whole host of scars to tell of his travels down it.
It was sobering indeed to think that he would give it up, would walk away from it and never look back without a moments hesitation, were Tristan but to ask. He ran his hand down the pommel and the length of the blade, giving it one last caress before he turned from the room and shut the door behind him.
Tristan had told himself that when the food arrived he would wait for Kreshtar before he would eat anything, it was only polite. But when the stew came all thought of politeness left his head and he was heartily that he hadn't had anything to eat really since breakfast that morning. He dove in without further hesitation. The stew was delicious, as Marcus had said it would be. Tristan broke his bread and found that it was still warm from the ovens and dipped it in the broth. The mead was quenching and sat warmly in the pit of his stomach. To a young man who had had to live off of what he could forage and Kreshtar could kill, this meal was a veritable banquet set out before him.
Between inhaling bites of stew and bread and swallows of mead Tristan actually managed to look about the room at the other guests. Most looked like they were either local folk who simply wished to enjoy the hospitality of the tavern, which Tristan could not fault them for that, or people of the other cities passing on their way to or from their destinations. Tristan spotted about two other men from the north that he could make out, but they kept to themselves off in the corners.
Tristan looked around for a moment, suddenly self-conscious. He really did stand out, he was the only one in the room not wearing anything above the waist. He had never really thought about it before. Only during the bitter cold winter months did anyone he knew wear anything more than the loincloth and boots he had on. All the other people around were dressed in linens and such. Not all of them were of fine make, but they covered a great deal more that what he had.
Tristan took a closer look at the crowd in the tavern. Most of the patrons seemed absorbed in what was going on in front of them, conversing intently or laughing jovially with their fellows. But he could pick out a few men who seemed to be paying particular attention to him. It was uncomfortable being under such scrutiny, but there was nothing to be done till Kreshtar got back.
As if the thought of him had summoned him Kreshtar strode over to where Tristan was seated, the sword missing from his back. It seemed almost unnatural to Tristan to see him without it, like a piece of him was missing. But the sight of him, sword or no, was still a welcome relief.
Kreshtar walked over to Tristan who smile at the sight of him. Yes, there would be no hesitation at all were it to come to a choice. Kreshtar sat himself on the bench next to Tristan, who looked like he had already started in on the delicious smelling meal before them. He could hardly fault the boy for not waiting, his own stomach was growling impatiently with the demand to be fed. Tristan visibly relaxed, with Kreshtar here nothing would happen.
At that moment a young girl stepped on to the raised area just off to their right. She could only have been a few years older than Tristan, but she was in the full flower of her maturity. She had a pleasing curve to her figure and her clothes hung almost artfully on her slender frame. Her hair seemed to match the luster and color of the polished tables on which they dined and her dark eyes had a smoldering heat to them like the last embers of a dying fire.
Marcus approached the stage and started to address the audience, in Latin of course. From what Tristan could make out, and related to Kreshtar, Marcus was introducing the girl, Antigone, to the crowd and telling them that she was about to sing for them.
Kreshtar was not sure what it was that he was expecting from the girl, but whenever he looked back on it he supposed that he should not have been surprised after everything else. The girl opened her mouth and out of it issued a soft tone, held for a moment like a lover would hold his paramour. Then the girl began her sad, melancholy melody. She swayed gently and gracefully with the tune, punctuating the sad song.
It was enough to wrest tears from Tristan's eyes, though he could not comprehend the words he felt the power of the emotions behind them. In the melody he saw memories, faces and places of those things that he had loved from childhood to the beginnings of his entry to the brotherhood of grown men. He felt a great pang of longing at the loss of that which he had known and loved for so long. But unbidden came the thought of his conversation with Kreshtar from a few days ago. The fact that Tristan had the memories to begin with was something he would truly cherish, and the things his thoughts turned to became bittersweet instead of merely empty longing.
The girl made an end of her song and gave a graceful curtsy to the uproarious applause from the crowd which had gathered. Tristan cast his eyes about and found that while this Antigone had been singing even more people had joined the crowd on the tavern floor. The inn was quite crowded and full darkness had fallen outside.
Tristan turned to Kreshtar and motioned for the pouch, he would never be heard over the cheering of the crowd that was still going on, the serving girl accepting it with all the grace of a seasoned performer. Kreshtar surrendered the pouch and Tristan took out a silver piece. He knew that this money was not endless, but this would hopefully be the last expenditure that they needed for a little while. Other patrons were throwing pieces of copper on the stage as they were cheering. Tristan lobbed the silver piece up at the girls feet and watched as the girl's eyes widened as the coin came sliding to a stop. Tristan gave a grin and a nod and added his applause to the rest of the crowd's. The girl gave another curtsy in return and then proceeded to collect her rewards.
The crowd settled and turned back to food and drink while awaiting the next form of entertainment for the evening, as did Tristan and Kreshtar. After a few minutes Marcus again approached the raised platform and a hush came over the crowd again.
Using what little Latin he knew, Tristan barely made out that Marcus was introducing the head cook, Mathias, who was to spin them a tale or two before the night was over. Tristan settled back into Kreshtar, having finished his supper and enjoying the comfort of the big man against his back who draped an arm over Tristan's shoulder and across his chest, drawing the boy farther in.
After Marcus had finished announcing Mathias Tristan waved him over. The innkeeper weaved his way through the crowd and stopped by where they were sitting.
"Evening good masters," Marcus greeted them in a genuinely jolly tone, "what is it I can do for you? I trust the food is all to your liking?"
"Everything is excellent my good host," Tristan pipped back with his easy grin. "If it's not too much trouble for you I would like to hear the story told this evening, so I would ask you to translate it for me and my uncle here. If it's not too much trouble of course." Tristan added hastily.
"Why no my good lad, though if you truly are going to be apprenticed then you will need to work on your Latin." Marcus jibbed at him before joining them at the table.
Presently Mathias came out of the kitchen and limped on stage. He was a grizzled old man who looked like he had seen everything, and had thought to remember it all so that he may tell others, the look of a true storyteller.
He sat on a chair provided for him, the fire light casting long shadows across the deep lines on his face. He looked his audience over, as if measuring the quality of it's collective character. Then he began his tale. Marcus translated quickly and accurately, Tristan dividing his attention equally between the two. The tale was that of Prometheus, the giver of fire and healing to the race of man. It was a tale that Tristan had heard before, but Mathias was an animated storyteller indeed and so the young man was held rapt.
Kreshtar found that he enjoyed the tale, not being one for a fanciful yarn Kreshtar seldom enjoyed storytelling. More often than not he would be asked by those present to recount the tales of his own exploits, which in his own opinion were not all that fantastic. If he refused though, someone else would take up the tale of which ever endeavor was being undertaken. And, the respective storytellers always took liberties with what happened, making him seem far greater than he really gave himself credit for.
The man on the stage made an end to his first tale and asked the crowd if they would like a second tale. A loud cry from his audience gave a rousing confirmation on that point.
"What story would you hear?" The old man inquired of his audience, being translated through Marcus. Several members of the audience shouted something or other, but the old man was waiting, it seemed, for something that impressed him. Someone shouted something from a remote corner of the room and the storyteller gave an impressed look.
"Ah," he almost wheezed, "you would have me tell you of the Beast would you?" He gave a cackle. Tristan shifted a little nervously on the bench and he could feel the almost imperceptible tensing of Kreshtar against him.
"The Beast is known by many names," the storyteller began, "he is the untamed, he is the barbarian warrior from the northern wastes, he is the man with the unfaltering, unwavering, tireless sword. His name is Kreshtar. Men equally cower in fear and rejoice in rapture at the site of his approach, for the man has but one drive, one focus, and that is bloodletting. He goes where ever there is conflict, where ever men spill the blood of their fellows, or perhaps chaos and destruction merely follow in his wake and he is the herald of their imminent arrival.
"Whether he follows the one, or the one follows him is inconsequential, for there are none that can deny that he is the fiercest of warriors. A man renowned for his violence and bloodshed amongst a people know for their savagery. Women swoon at his passing, whether in fear, for their fathers, brothers, husbands and sons, or in lust, for he is a mountain of a man that, were he too have his way, he could almost definitely spread the legs of at least half the priestesses of Venus and hardly break a sweat all in one night.
"But much to the torment of many a lustful whore, and to the great relief of many a jealous man, Kreshtar does not bother to sully himself with the scores of women throwing themselves at him. Why would such a man as this, a man who seemingly indulges any and all appetites at whim, who's loyalties are as inscrutably as fickle as Zeus' attentions to his wife Hera, refuse the bounty so willingly laid out before him at his desire?
"Some say that the man is a eunic, lacking the faculties to perform such acts. Others say that it is a simple vow of celibacy, a promise that he has made to not let his mad blood lust be continued down to an heir. But one of the more popular theories is that he already has lovers of his own, lovers that all the women who throw themselves at him cannot be compared with.
"They say that since the man's only true love is battle that he has lovers that he courts on the field. They say that Kreshtar has a wife, a maid of steel and iron. And he has a mistress as well, death. On the field he courts them both simultaneously, dancing with his wife of iron and steel and satisfying the nearly insatiable lusts of his mistress, death. They say that between the two of them, they will not let him die, for never has there been a man that knows them so intimately, knows just how to touch them, how to satisfy their desires, and every time he proves himself a most ardent and attentive lover.
"There are still others, though admittedly much more rare and they speak in far more hushed tones, for what they suggest is quite probably blasphemy. But they claim that he is a scion of battle, possibly even a son of Mars, as impossible as it may seem. Yet, their argument is not without merit. For how else could a mere mortal man be such an efficient and deadly killer?"
Mathias went on with his tale, detailing an exploit or two, and doing a storyteller's job of it in Kreshtar's opinion. All exaggeration and spectacle, with no real understanding of the particulars. Tristan made a show of giving a face splitting yawn, which Kreshtar had the very strong suspicion was fake.
"Hmm..," Marcus considered, "I suppose the hour is indeed late. You'd best retire for the night good masters, you've an early start tomorrow and a lot of road to cover. I'll see you to the stairs."
"Thank you," Kreshtar gave the man a toothy smile, which felt forced to himself, but the man made no notice of it.
Marcus led them across the crowded floor and to the stairs. As they were passing the last table an arm reached up and caught hold of Tristan's wrist. The owner of the arm was a burly man in his own right, but his hair was matted and greasy and he had the appearance of a man who had once been endowed with a fine form, but through lack of physical stimulation and the combination of indulging in too much mead was starting to go soft as time caught up with him. He leered a grin at the boy who was momentarily shocked out of all action by the suddenness of the man himself. The man's breath reeked of ale and the very scent permeated his entire presence.
"What's the matter boy?" The man stumble drunkenly through very rough and crude Norse. "Can't bear to hear about your murderous hero? Maybe I should give you a personal demonstration of what The Beast is capable of. I..."
At that moment the man looked past Tristan just in time to see Kreshtar bearing down on him. Kreshtar grabbed the man's own wrist and started to apply pressure. He squeezed till he could feel the bones beneath the skin on the verge of cracking. The man began whimpering and released Tristan's arm, impotently putting his other hand on Kreshtar's arm, but he had no hope of trying to pry off Kreshtar's iron grip.
"On your knees filth," Kreshtar growled low in his chest through gritted teeth, a cold furry smoldering in his eyes.
The man obliged, sinking to the plank floor with a whine as Kreshtar kept just enough pressure on the man's wrist to not break it.
"Touch the boy again and it will be the last thing you do. Trouble neither myself nor my nephew again, or I will give you a slow death that would make this Beast you so loath shy away with revulsion, pig," Kreshtar punctuated this last statement as he spat on the man's down turned head. He released the man's wrist and watched as the man crumbled to the floor.
Marcus began a tirade in his native tongue aimed at the crumpled form, trying as best he could to both express his extreme displeasure and not disturb the rest of his patrons who, for the most part, had remained oblivious to the entire episode. From what Tristan could make out apparently the man was a trouble maker on a regular basis. Marcus was explicitly telling the man that he was no longer welcome in the innkeeper's tavern.
Kreshtar had already put a protective arm across Tristan and was walking at a brisk pace back to the stairs. Tristan could feel the violence barely restrained quivering through the man's body, howling for release. When they got to the foot of the stairs though Kreshtar turned to Tristan and gently took his wrist in hand.
"You're not hurt, are you?" The giant man asked quietly and calmly.
"No," Tristan responded, equally as quiet, "he only surprised me and shook me up a bit, that's all." Tristan glanced back at the man who was being unceremoniously tossed out by two of Marcus' surlier employees.
"Good," Kreshtar whispered back, not being able to say more.
Marcus approached them both before they turned back to ascend the stairs before them.
"My sincerest apologies good masters," he began, and sounded like he truly did regret what just happened, "the man has been a trouble maker for a long time, harassing any of my northern patrons whenever he drinks too much. He is no longer welcome in my inn, I'll not have my patrons badgered any more by the likes of him."
"There was no lasting harm done fortunately," Kreshtar replied coolly, still somewhat roused by the episode. "So long as the man doesn't come near us again then I'm willing to let things be as they are."
"Again, my humblest apologies good masters," Marcus gave a low bow. "Have a pleasant sleep and I shall have your things prepared for you in the morning."
Kreshtar nodded to the man and turned with Tristan to ascend the stairs. They walked to their room in silence and Kreshtar opened the door and ushered Tristan in, bolting the door behind them. Soft candle light painted the walls and gave a gentle glow to the room. Tristan had turned to face the door as Kreshtar sank to his knees and wrapped his arms around Tristan.
"I'm sorry I didn't see what was happening sooner," he was not crying, but there was a deep remorse that colored his voice. "One moment you were walking next to me and the next I didn't know where you were. I was ready to tear that pig limb from limb with my bear hands."
"It's alright, Kreshtar," Tristan soothed, "I'm not hurt and the situation was handled. Other than being a little shaken up I'm okay."
Kreshtar looked up at Tristan and Tristan looked down at Kreshtar, giving him a smile, no mischief, no boyish laughter bubbling just beneath the surface. Simply a contented and happy grin, Kreshtar felt his heart skip a beat.
Tristan leaned down to Kreshtar and kissed him lightly, leaning both hands on his broad shoulders. It began chaste enough, a small brush of lips, nothing more. But Tristan began to engage in the act with more fervor as the kiss turned passionate. Kreshtar began running his hands up and down the length of Tristan's back as their tongues met and they tasted each other. Tristan began making small noises as Kreshtar cupped the swell of his legs.
The giant man stood up suddenly, lifting Tristan by his hips and gently laid him down on the soft furs of the bed. Tristan looked up at the man staring down at him in the almost delicate light of the candles. He let his eyes drink in every line and curve, using his eyes as though he were using his hands. It was becoming hard to imagine life without Kreshtar, and Tristan didn't really want to contemplate the thought overly much. This man made him inexplicably happy and, slowly but surely, was taking away the pain that he felt from his loss.
Tristan reached an arm up to Kreshtar, beckoning him as he had beckoned Tristan in the bath. Kreshtar took Tristan's hand and let himself be pulled down to the bed on top of the young man. The weight was almost crushing, but it was more a comfort to Tristan than a burden. Tristan wrapped his arms around Kreshtar, feeling the ripples and ridges in the big man's back and running his hands along the length of them.
Kreshtar kissed Tristan again, deeply, probing his tongue into Tristan's mouth and running his tongue over Tristan's. He could feel his manhood hardening against his stomach as the young man began to writhe beneath him and he could feel the answering hardness of Tristan's own sex as well.
Kreshtar sat up on his knees for a moment, undoing the clasp that held his loincloth in place and discarding it on the floor, Tristan doing the same. Kreshtar laid himself back down on Tristan, luxuriating in the heat of his own shaft pressed against Tristan's. Tristan spread his legs to accommodate for the girth of Kreshtar's torso, the walnut sized orbs in the fleshy sack below the man's spear pressing against his own. Kreshtar pressed his mouth over Tristan's, feeding from it, drinking Tristan from the mouth down. One arm wrapped behind Tristan's neck, pulling the boy's torso closer to Kreshtar still, gripping Tristan's shoulder. The other hand he ran along the length of Tristan's thigh wrapped around Kreshtar's waist, caressing the limb and the swell where it joined the young man's torso.
Kreshtar' ran his hand up Tristan's torso up to the nipple. He began flicking it with his fingers as he still devoured the young man's mouth, twisting and pinching it as well. Tristan made a helpless moan in his throat, writhing his rigid sex against Kreshtar's. There was a faint taste and smell of pine to the man, the result of the rosemary scented oil from the bath and Tristan smiled inwardly, it seemingly fitting that this man should taste and smell of the deep woods.
Kreshtar moved down the boy's neck, kissing and bitting gently and sucking at the skin. Tristan's breath started becoming heavier as the man on top of him moved farther down his torso. Kreshtar began to lick the nipple that he had just been playing with, running the length of his tongue against it and flicking it. He bit it gently, rolling it delicately between his teeth. He began to suck on the nipple, taking it and as much of Tristan's pec into his mouth as he could. Tristan made helpless breathy noises as Kreshtar proceeded with the other nipple.
Kreshtar moved lower yet on the boy, licking the lean torso and flicking his tongue in Tristan's belly button. He moved lower still and came to Tristan's manhood. Kreshtar rubbed his cheek against it, enjoying the hard, silken texture against his face. He began to lick and suck globes at the base of Tristan's shaft, taking them both into his mouth at the same time and running the length of his tongue over them.
Goddess, but the man had been a fast learner, was the only thought that ran itself through Tristan's head as Kreshtar moved on. Kreshtar began to lick Tristan's rigid sex with broad strokes and dipping his tongue below the line of foreskin partially pulled back from the bulging head. Kreshtar took the head into his mouth, sucking on it and running circles around it with his tongue. He began to take more and more of it, finding a slow steady rhythm, gradually taking more of it with each downward plunge. Tristan was in sheer bliss, Kreshtar had certainly learned his lessons well. Kreshtar made it to the end of Tristan's shaft, his nose buried in the soft curls of hair where the length of the boy joined with his torso. This was still difficult for the man to do, despite all the practice they had done over the last week or two, but it was rewarding. He began massaging Tristan's sex with his throat, coming up for air when he needed it.
Tristan could feel his climax beginning to build, and he regrettably pulled Kreshtar off his sex. There was still more to come before this night was finished and he wanted to make sure he lasted through it all. He pulled Kreshtar back up to him, indulging in a deep kiss before telling the big man what he wanted to have happen next.
Following Tristan's instructions, Kreshtar placed a knee on either side of Tristan's head. This put Kreshtar's sex right in Tristan's face. Tristan began to administer the same treatment to Kreshtar's spear as the man had just done to his own. All throughout the taste and scent of rosemary permeated the act of their coupling. Tristan could not take nearly as much of Kreshtar's length as he normally could, the angle was just wrong for it. But this was position that he enjoyed, running his hands up Kreshtar's muscled legs and hips, cupping the swell of the man's legs.
Kreshtar's head was thrown back, his hand running over the length of his shaft not devoured by Tristan's mouth. Gods but the boy knew what he was doing, he wondered briefly where exactly Tristan had learned to do what he did, but only briefly. Most conscious thought was pleasantly driven from his mind for the time being. Tristan came up for air, breathing huskily and stroking the length of Kreshtar's spear.
"Alright," Tristan said with his signature grin, that combination of imp and innocence that was seeming something that only he could pull off, "it's time. Let me up for a minute."
Kreshtar obligingly let Tristan stand. The boy walked over to the neat pile of goods they had acquired and riffled through it till he found what he wanted. He came back to the bed with one of the flasks of olive oil and undid the cork.
"Lay down for a minute," Tristan requested and Kreshtar again obliging.
Tristan poured a little of the oil from the flask onto his hand and proceeded to rub it along the length of Kreshtar's shaft. Realization finally dawned on Kreshtar as he remembered how the boy had used the grease from the bones from their meal their first night together. The oil served that purpose much, much better and Kreshtar finally understood why the boy had wanted to wait till it was available. Tristan poured a little more oil in his hand and began rubbing over the length of his own shaft and used a bit of it to lubricate the pucker between the cheeks of his gluteus.
When he considered it sufficient he laid himself down on Kreshtar's left side, motioning for Kreshtar to roll on his side. Tristan propped one leg up on the bed, bending it at the knee. Reaching back he guided the tip of Kreshtar's sex to his hole. Kreshtar slid one hand through the hollow of Tristan's neck and the other helped guide his shaft. Kreshtar gave a gentle push and slipped past the ring of muscle that guarded that entrance to Tristan. Tristan gave a sharp hiss as the familiar initial stab of pain came.
"Are you alright?" Kreshtar hesitated.
"Uh-huh," Tristan nodded, looking back and up at Kreshtar and flashing a grin, "just take it slow," he said a little breathy, "your's is the biggest endowment I've ever had to accommodate for."
Kreshtar drew the boy closer to himself, tightening his grip around Tristan's chest with the arm positioned under the young man's neck. The other hand he placed on Tristan's hip to give himself a little more control. He leaned down and kissed Tristan deeply as he slowly started to progress his length inside the young man. The gods had never made anything finer, was about the only conscious thought Kreshtar was capable of. So tight, so warm, so smooth and soft, this made the entire trip into the city worth it.
Tristan's breaths were coming in gasps as he waited for his body to accommodate. Gods, but this man was big. Slowly, inch by inch, Kreshtar pushed into the boy, till the entire length of his shaft was finally buried in Tristan. Tristan let out a sigh as his body started to relax around the enormous girth firmly planted between the cheeks of his gluteus. Now, the real event could begin.
Kreshtar began to thrust his hips gently, barely moving an inch of his length in and out of the boy. Tristan felt Kreshtar's spear touch that one spot, that point deep inside him where even the slightest touch sent waves of sensation through his entire body. He began to moan against Kreshtar mouth, reaching back with the arm he wasn't laying on to firmly grip the back of the man's head. Tristan began to thrust back with his hips to meet the slow, building rhythm of the big man behind him.
Kreshtar started to grunt against Tristan's mouth, slowly speeding up his pace, easing more of the length of his shaft in and out of the boy. He moved his hand from Tristan's hip, caressing up the length of Tristan's torso, beginning to apply more pressure with his hand till he dimly thought that he would surely bruise the boy. He began pinching Tristan's nipples, the young man beginning to moan in earnest. Kreshtar circled the boy's stomach with his arm, squeezing tightly, beginning to pick up more speed, thrusting with more of his length.
Tristan was arching his back now, his neck and spine almost impossibly bowed backwards, his voice was gaining volume, his moans becoming more cries. He was lost to the sheer ecstasy of the primal, carnal act of their coming together. There was no more logic, no reasoning, just the driving force beginning to slam into him.
Kreshtar was licking, biting and sucking at the tender skin at Tristan's neck, his own grunts growing in their own volume and intensity, till it was more growls and panting than any form of human communication. He finally moved his hand from the boy's waist to the ample length of Tristan's own sizable shaft. The olive oil the young man had slicked over his spear made Kreshtar's hand glide smoothly and easily up and down the length of it. Kreshtar began stroking Tristan's sex, matching the rhythm to that of his own spear, he wanted to feel the boy's release and then his own.
Tristan began to feel it building, like a storm on the edge of the horizon, a gigantic tidal wave speeding to the shore to crash and break upon the land. His cries became desperate as Kreshtar continued his pace both inside and outside of him. Till...there.
Tristan arched his back even further, something he was almost sure was impossible. His whole body convulsed as Kreshtar did not let up his pace, even though he could see that the boy was at his climax. Tristan cried out, wordless, just shy of a scream as his body continued convulsing. The tightening inside the boy's guts was just enough to push Kreshtar over the edge. For the second time since they had met, Kreshtar emptied his seed deep inside Tristan. Tristan felt it inside him, almost impossible hot, as though he should be blistering from the inside. Kreshtar let loose a deep chested howl that clawed its way up from the bottom of his throat and out his mouth. And it finished.
Their bodies convulsed against each other for a few moments after. Their breath coming in heaving, rasping pants. Dimly, Kreshtar thought he could hear a roar from downstairs, like the crowd was cheering at something, and a thunderous applause that died down after a minute or two. Mathias must have finished another one of his stories. Kreshtar tried three times to speak, his throat was sore from that last yell and his tongue felt thick and sluggish.
"You," he breathed, "you alright?"
Tristan gave a full throated, contented laugh, sounding incredibly satisfied, immensely entertained, and just as husky as Kreshtar's own voice.
"Oh," Tristan breathed back, still panting, "if you couldn't tell from that last part then let me assure you, I'm doing quite well," he gave a few more satisfied, deep breaths.
"Should we," Kreshtar was mumbling almost, "should we go ahead and separate ourselves? So the same thing doesn't happen as last time?"
"We should be okay," Tristan assured the big man, "the olive oil is much better suited for this, it won't dry out like the grease from the bones. Besides," he continued on, "I've got to find some way of getting you to your size, this is probably about the best," he gave another contented laugh, sending shudders up the pole Kreshtar still had lodged firmly inside the young man.
Tristan heaved a heavy sigh with a smile spread across his lips, sinking down to the pillow of Kreshtar's arm. Kreshtar leaned down and kissed the corner of the boy's mouth, doubling the smirk on his young face. Pushing a stray strand of hair aside, Kreshtar laid his cheek on top of Tristan's and heaved a sigh of his own. The two almost immediately fell into a deep, peaceful sleep.
The candle light in the room finally stopped flickering and the noise had finally stopped. From the street below a figure stepped out of the shadows. The man from before, still half drunk from having indulged in to much mead in the tavern, his thinking was still somewhat clearer. The humiliation of being thrown out into the street still burned at him.
Bloody northern savages. If it hadn't of been for them he would not have been thrown out. But that was alright, he would set matters to rights. There had been people whispering all night about the enormous barbarian from the north and his boy companion. He had even heard that the big man had shown up earlier that day with a sword that matched his stature. What a fine prize that would make.
He would need friends, of that he had plenty, or at least who called themselves friends with one gesture and would steal you blind with another if you were fool enough to trust them completely, possibly slight your throat as well, to further reward such foolhardiness. About nine others beside himself, that should be sufficient to overwhelm the big man with their numbers. And then it would be his turn to show the northern bastards who was superior. And just to add injury to it, before killing the big man he would have his way with the boy. From the sounds of it the lad knew what he was doing and could be a further source of entertainment to him and his 'friends'.
"Just wait barbarian," the man spat venomously under his breath, "you will pay for humiliating me. The gods themselves will turn away from it. Go ahead and sleep, for now."
With that the man departed hastily. He had much ground to cover if he were to gather together a group of men sufficient to take the big man down.