Tomasz sucked and whimpered, lost in the pleasure consuming him. Heat built in his groin as Garek’s thrustingincreased, and without warning he bit down on Tomasz’s shoulder.
“Fuck.” His orgasm exploded in a rush of utter bliss, release coating his thighs, easing the slide of Garek’s cock. He cursed and gripped Tomasz’s hip, fucking with a new fervor as he chased his own orgasm. Fingers dug into his thigh, his body stiffened like a board, and Garek roared a stream of words in a foreign tongue as he came.
He buried his face in the crook of Tomasz’s neck, panting hoarsely in the come down as he stroked his thighs and again pressed a broad palm up his front, holding Tomasz tight and treasured against his chest.
Five
And so it went for a score of days. Garek arrived in the dead of night, ushered to the tavern door by a rush of wind. At Tomasz’s invitation, he entered and they drank gorza together, or ate from the hunter’s pot hung over the fire. Some nights, he took Tomasz in his hand or mouth, or lay with him before the fire. Other nights, they played cards or spoke of the world.
Garek had seen much of it, and Tomasz very little. But he had read, and spent a decade listening to the travels of others, and the conversation flowed, spurred on by his curiosity and Garek’s knowledge.
He knew of the mountains to the south and claimed to have met the witch in the woods and her familiar. He had sampled gorza from Alexandrinburg to the east and seen the maze-like streets of Lutetia far to the west.
The visits were always too brief, and well before sunrise, he donned his riding coat, cowl, and scarf, kissing Tomasz deeply before covering his mouth and stepping out into the cold.
For Tomasz, the days slipped by in a haze of anticipation, broken apart only by the odd visits from Oj Pavel and his grandson, and then, only Josef.
It happened on the tenth day. Tomasz watched from the shadows within the tavern, confused by the lone figure standing on the road.
Josef lingered at the edge of the walk with his eyes raised to the trees. He ran a frustrated hand through his hair, shuffling the black locks, and hurried down the front walk, stopping well before the door.
Rubble still clogged the threshold, encased in inches of ice that Tomasz had not been able to break through. Still, Josef stood closer, and Tomasz tracked the shocks of gray streaking his hair. Deep lines bracketed his mouth, splaying from the corners of his eyes.
He clapped a hand over his mouth to cover a gasp, startled by Josef’s age. He was older than Tomasz by eight years, but the man who stood on his front walk had aged ten or more in the span of a few weeks.
Josef chewed the end of a bit of straw, spinning a clay jar in his hand. Shaking his head, he withdrew a meager amount and scattered it across the front walk. Scurrying back to the road, he crossed himself, spat twice, and walked away.
That night, Garek entered uninvited. The floorboards creaked beneath his feet, tearing Tomasz away from his focus on … the pot hung over the fire? No. He was behind the bar, reaching for a bottle of gorza.
“Tomasz?” The rumble of his voice snapped Tomasz back into himself. He flinched, knocking over the bottle. “Please, gods.” Garek rushed deeper into the room. He ripped off his cowl and searched the tavern, silver eyes shot wide. “Please be here.”
“I’m here.”
Garek whipped around, slapping a hand over his heart. He gaped at Tomasz, lips trembling before any words came out. “I thought you were gone.”
“We’ve talked about this.” He laughed and righted the bottle. “Where would I go?”
Garek swallowed, and in a moment had Tomasz in his arms, kissing him deeply and holding too tight.
That night, they merely lay together, stripped to their trousers and wrapped in Garek’s coat. He toyed with Tomasz’s hair and whispered stories of the north. Of a blue bottle sea that sparkled with starlight whenever he rode upon it. Of gentle breezes at the tail end of the winter wind, and large ships with their sails unfurled.
“I would like to see that some day.”
“Maybe you will,” Garek answered without any strength behind the words.
“Perhaps I will come with you tonight.” Tomasz craned his neck, taking in the strong lines of Garek’s profile. His brows sat heavy over his eyes, lips pressed in a line as he watched the flames dance. “Walk right out that door and ride with you to wherever it is you go.”
Garek only kissed his hair. “Would that you could, Tomasz.”
He left hours earlier than usual, his face set in a grim frown. “I have an extra errand to run tonight. Promise me, Tomasz, you will not leave the tavern.”
“For the twentieth time,” he laughed. “Where would I go?”
Garek answered him with a kiss, and with a howl of the wind, he was gone.
“Careful, Czerwony,” a rasping voice called out. “The timber is not stable.”
Soft feet padded across the floor. Behind the bar, Tomasz raised his head, stilling at the sight of a large red wolf searchingthe tavern. A shadow fell across the room, and he followed the line of it to Fenra the Wolfwoman filling the door.