Garek’s lips raised goosebumps as he tongued his belly button and sucked lightly at his hip bones. Tomasz’s cock throbbed hard enough that he half-feared it would spring free of its own volition. Thick fingers toyed with the belt at his waist, undoing the leather and letting the ends fall open. A large hand cupped the back of Tomasz’s knee, and did not move.
“Tomasz.”
Gods, his name in that deep, guttural voice, gasped like a prayer and thick with want. It shot straight to Tomasz’s balls and sent his head spinning.
“Touch me, Garek.” He was not above begging. “Please, gods, touch me.”
Heat fell over his groin. Delicious and maddening at once. Garek mouthed him over his underclothes, working a line up the length of Tomasz’s cock.
He gripped Garek’s hair. Dug his nails into the wall until splinters bit his skin.
Garek never eased or slowed, working Tomasz until his hips bucked and the pleasure grew to be too much.
“Garek—”
The waist of his underclothes fell away, and mind-melting warmth engulfed his cock. Garek’s tongue curled around his shaft, tightened the ring of his lips, andsucked.
The stroke of his lips, the suction and sweet, sweet glide of his tongue drew Tomasz to the edge faster than he could fathom.
“Fuck the gods and all.” He pounded a fist against the wall as bliss exploded through him. His release shot into Garek’s throat, and he never let up, swallowing all Tomasz let loose and sucking as if he could draw forth more. Right as the lovely sensitivity grew to be too much, Garek slipped off his cock and settled back on his heels. He gazed up at Tomasz, a look of wonder on his face.
“So warm.” He swept the back of a hand across his lips and rose. Panting breaths crashed against Tomasz’s cheek, and Garek brushed a soft kiss to his lips. “Thank you.”
“Thank me?” he managed. “I should be thanking you. My knees are quaking so hard I can barely stand.”
“Then we should lie down, the next time I pass through.”
“Next time.” Could a heart fall even as it lifted? “Must you go so soon?” He tucked himself back into his underclothes, pointedly glancing at Garek’s rigid cock pressing against his leathers.
“I have many miles to ride?—”
“Before dawn,” Tomasz finished. “I know.”
“You do?” Garek startled back.
“You mentioned as much the other night.” Feeling bold, Tomasz cupped Garek’s cheek and stole a kiss. “And you have not said very much at all. It stood out.”
“I suppose it did.”
He kissed him again, this one sweet and lingering. A drugging kiss to convey what he could not with words. Or perhaps Tomasz read too much into the lazy glide and lingering curl of his tongue, for at the howling of a winter wind, Garekjolted away. He half-staggered across the room, tearing his coat from the wall and shoving his arms into the sleeves.
“I must go,” he said, absent all tenderness. The cowl hid his hair, and Garek wrapped the scarf around his throat, shoving the ends within the neck of his coat. “Stay within your tavern, Tomasz.” Stepping onto the rubble, he gripped the doorframe hard enough to blanch his knuckles. “Please.”
And before Tomasz could answer, he was gone.
Four
“—and you must not forget.” Oj Pavel’s voice streamed into the tavern, quaking and dry.
“I won’t, Dziadek,” a younger voice answered.
“Every year,” Oj Pavel continued. “Before sundown, you must?—”
“Salt the threshold,yes.”
Tomasz crept to the open door, peering out into the fading day. Oj Pavel stood halfway down the front walk, stooped over a cane Tomasz had never seen him use. A young man had his arm linked through Oj Pavel’s, and in his free hand, he held a clay jar.
“Have it blessed by the Kaplan, Josef. And use a heavy handful. It must be a solid line.”