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Ashmael stormed into Vaysh’s office, a thick novel in in his hands with strips of paper sticking out of it in multiple places.
“What’s the meaning of this?” he demanded slamming the book down on the desktop.
Vaysh looked up from his paperwork. “Can I help you with something, General Aldebaran? I’m afraid the Tigron is unavailable at the moment.” His voice was cold, dismissive, contempt in his grey eyes.
"You wrote this, didn’t you?” Ashmael snarled poking the novel viciously.
“I’m afraid I have no idea what you’re talking about, General. I have work to do. If you’d like to leave a message for Tigron Pellaz I’ll see that he gets it when he’s free, otherwise the door is behind you, please make use of it.”
Ashmael shook his head. “No, I’m not leaving until you answer the question. You wrote this.”
“That isn’t a question, General, it’s a statement. Let me repeat myself slowly this time, since you didn’t seem to understand the first time. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Ashmael picked up the book, opened to one of the places marked by a slip of paper and began to read aloud. “Cinis looked up at Vashon through lush blond eyelashes, eyes lowered demurely. He could feel his heart beating in the fragile cage of his chest, fluttering madly like a hummingbird’s wings. Vashon’s blond hair flowed down his back like a silken waterfall, glimmering like gold in the hot afternoon sun. His leather trousers clung to him, hugging his lean muscular legs and firm backside like a second skin. The day was hot, humid, the moisture in the air wrapping around them like a wet blanket. Vashon had shed his leather vest and stood by the stream. The kiss of the summer sun had given his fair skin a healthy glow and a light sheen of sweat made his skin glisten.” Ashmael paused his reading. “You know what Cinis means don’t you?”
Vaysh shook his head. “Please enlighten me, General.”
“It’s Latin for Ash!”
“Is it? I wouldn't know."
“Cut the bullshit, I know that you know that both of us know Latin.”
"General Aldebaran, it has been a very long time since I studied Latin. Take your questionable taste in reading material with you and go bother somehar else, I have work to do."
Ashmael remained where he was and scanned the text then began to read again, having jumped forward a bit in the narrative. Vaysh leaned back in his chair, arms crossed in front of his chest, the expression on his face one of irritated disintrest.
“‘Vashon’s hand tangled in Cinis’ shoulder length white gold hair at the back of his head, tugged so that the slightly taller har tilted his head back, exposing his throat. “Mine,” Vashon growled, biting the smooth unblemished skin. Cinis closed his eyes, moaned softly, feeling the deep throb of desire in his aching, dripping soume-lam.
“’Yes, yours, always yours, Vash,’ Cinis gasped. It drove him crazy when Vashon took charge like this, commanding and forceful. “Please …” he whispered. He wanted, no needed to be on his back beneath Vashon, to have this beautiful har take him, claim him, mark him.
Vashon released his grip on Cinis’ hair. He reached out, circled Cinis’ nipple with the tip of his finger through the thin white linen of his shirt before pinching it cruelly. “You’re going to strip for me.” Vashon purred. “And then I want you at my feet on all fours.” He pinched Cinis’ nipple again then gave a gentle push. For a moment Cinis stood there, blue eyes dark with desire, a slight flush to his cheeks. “What are you waiting for? I gave you an order.”
Vaysh was tapping his right index finger on his left arm just above the elbow, glaring at Ashamael. Ashmael’s complete attention was on what he reading to Vaysh.
“’Cinis fumbled with the ties at the neck of his shirt for a moment before untying them. He scrambled out of his clothes, feeling Vashon’s eyes on him, gaze heavy with lust and ownership. Cinis waited there on all hands and knees in the soft grass by the stream, burning with desire. He felt the brush of leather against his thigh. Vashon trailed a fingernail down Cinis’ spine and then his hand slid along Cinis’ hip to his abdomen. The brush of fingers on the bud of his ‘lim. “Flower for me, Cinis,” Vashon murmured, his long graceful fingers stroking and teasing Cinis’ ouana-lim to full bloom. Cinis whined softly, arms trembling, heart racing, burning with need. He could feel the nectar of his arousal dripping from his soume-lam, the throb of his fully ... ’”
Ashmael was only half aware of the sound of the door locking. Vaysh had silently gotten to his feet, circled around Ashmael to lock his office door. He stopped reading abruptly when he felt the press of a body behind him, lips on his neck. “Don’t stop there, General,” Vaysh murmured, hands resting briefly on Ashmael’s hips before sliding over well worn leather. “I can see, and feel, how much you’re enjoying this.” Vaysh’s voice was a soft purr as he deftly unfastened Ashmael’s trousers.
“Oh fuck,” Ashmael gasped.
“You were always so needy when you were soume, Ash.” Vaysh gently bit Ashmael’s earlobe, “The way you’d beg me, so desperate to be fucked.”
“Aru, Vay,”
“I don’t think I ever fucked you over a desk, did I?”
Ashmael closed his eyes, swallowed hard. The forgotten book dropped from his hand, landed on the floor with a soft thud. He could feel the unfamiliar heat of Vaysh’s body against him. He smelled the same, autumn leaves and a hint of smoke, and those hands … Oh God, he knew that touch so well. Vaysh had always touched him in a way no other har could.
“Do you want me to?”
“I ….” Ashmael felt dizzy, lightheaded. Was this a dream? No, that touch was real. He hesitated. Did he want Vaysh to roon him right here, right now? “Please,” the word felt like a prayer as it left his lips. He could feel the pounding of his heart, the rush of his blood the sound of the ocean in his ears.
There were no more words. There was a scramble to unfasten and rearrange clothing, and then Ashmael was bent over Vaysh’s desk. When Ashmael felt Vaysh’s lim start to enter him he thrust back against Vaysh, cried out. A storm of memory blew through Ashmael’s mind, each image striking like a jagged fork of lightning. Vaysh’s fingers dug into Ashmael’s hips, there’d be bruises there later. Their coupling was rough, fierce, benediction and exorcism. Ashmael felt like he was unraveling, lost, his past slamming into his present. Orgasm brought with it stillness, a sense of grounding.
Ashmael felt Vaysh’s lips on his shoulder, then his ear as he murmured, “I return to you the heart you gave me. May you find another har worthy of this your gift.”