Day’s End

“We should be feasting back at the Keep, not huddling in some miserable cave.” Tomor snapped a branch across his knee with more force than necessary and shoved the shorter end into the already well stoked fire. Sparks flew up towards the ceiling as though the fire was irritated by his unwanted attention. He coughed and waved a hand in front of his face to clear the stinging smoke from his eyes. “I bet they are having a feast right now. Fresh bread, roast meats, a dozen different vegetables,” he continued his complaint in a slightly raspy voice. “And they’ll have cakes and sweet pastries and fruit.”

Weylan concentrated on the sigil he was drawing on the west wall of their cave. Tomor’s voice was just another background noise to be filtered out, like the crackling of the fire and the drawn out snick of a whetstone gliding over metal as Tomor went back to sharpening his sword. He knew that his companion’s bitching was just his way of unwinding from the day’s battle. His own release from tension would not come until he had warded this cave so they could sleep safely tonight. He could not let his concentration waver as he drew the complex arcs. The sigils had to be perfect or the warding would have weak spots, which could be fatal. Weylan studied the sigil critically before speaking the word and watching the glowing lines sink into the rock. He moved to the south wall and breathed deeply, picturing the sigil he wanted here clearly in his mind and clearing all other thoughts and emotions from his head. Once he felt the deep calm settle over him, he let his hand trace the visualisation in the air before the rock wall. The sigil glowed to his mage-sight as it hung before him. His eyes traced the lines, seeking any imperfection. He spoke the word to activate it and slumped slightly as he watched it be absorbed into the rock. He was weary. It meant that he had to work more slowly and check even more carefully than usual. Only one more to go, but that was the most vital. He walked heavily around the fire to face the north. The curtaining illusion he had thrown up when they entered the cave shimmered in the firelight. He traced the final sigil slowly against the shimmering curtain. He spoke the word and watched the sigil sink into the curtain which solidified from that point, a wave of stillness spreading across like the ripple from a drop of water in a still pool. He drew his polished silver knife and pricked his arm, allowing his blood to bead on the bright blade. He drew on his magic and thrust the blade into the now solid curtain and turned it like a key in a lock. The words of the spell binding rolled clearly from his tongue and he felt the warding snap into place. They were safe for the night.  He slumped, finally allowing himself to feel the strain of the day’s fighting. He was light-headed in the sudden release of concentration and his knees buckled. Tomor was there to catch him and half carry him back to the fire. The hilt of the silver knife winked in the firelight as it projected from the apparently solid rock where the entrance used to be.

Tomor laid him down on the blanket spread by the fire. He hadn’t noticed it being there before but the surface was warm from the flames. The light-headedness receded allowing the head ache to take its place. Weylan winced and put his forearm across his eyes to block out the too bright firelight. The pain was a vicious reminder of how much he had over-extended himself today. Tomor was muttering but Weylan couldn’t make out the words, just the over-all disapproving tone. He lay limply as Tomor undid the buckles of his armour and pulled it away, lifting him upright to get the back plate off. Weylan tried to suppress a whimper as his body was moved, and sighed with relief when he was flat on the blanket again. Tomor moved away and Weylan wanted to call him back; he wanted the physical contact, even if it was just someone to hold his hand until the pain subsided.

He couldn’t suppress the moan of pain when he was pulled upright again but didn’t open his eyes. He let Tomor move him around without any objection. He didn’t have the strength to fight the warrior as well as the pain. When the movement ceased, and his pounding head stopped spinning, he was sitting up with his face buried in the crook of Tomor’s neck. The warmth of the fire was on his back and his chest was pressed against Tomor’s. Large hands settled gently on his shoulders and began to massage the tense muscles, working slowly up his neck to his scalp. The pain slowly ebbed away as those skilled fingers loosened the tight knots and unravelled them, letting tension and pain drain away. Weylan sighed with relief and kept his eyes closed as his head was tipped back slightly, cradled in strong hands, so that thumbs could delicately stroke the last of the pain from his temples.

“That feels so good,” he said huskily, opening his eyes to smile at the concerned face so close to his. Tracing the familiar broad cheek bones and strong jaw with his gaze.

“Maybe. But if you would pay more attention it wouldn’t be necessary,” Tomor scowled at him, thick brows almost meeting over his nose as his dark eyes glared at Welan

“I won’t get any stronger if I don’t push my limits,” Weylan opened his eyes wider, “And I have to get stronger if…”

“You won’t get stronger if you push too much,” Tomor cut him off. “You’ll just get dead. And that won’t help either of us!”

“You’re right,” Weylan sighed and leaned forward enough for his words to feather across Tomor’s lips. “I’m sorry but there really wasn’t any way to back off today.” He leaned that fraction more and completed the kiss, letting his lips mould to the familiar shape of Tomor’s. After a few moments Tomor’s lips softened and kissed him back. Weylan felt the last of the tension leave his shoulders. He was forgiven. He deepened the kiss, running the tip of his tongue over the firm lips beneath his, until they parted and let him plunge into the welcoming warmth. His arms wrapped around the comforting bulk of Tomor, his hands wandering possessively over the ridged muscles of his lover’s back, as he sank into the kiss.

Tomor shifted them slightly and slowly lowered them to the blanket. Weylan pushed Tomor’s shirt up and growled in appreciation as he felt the bulky muscles bunch and slide beneath him. He enjoyed his lover’s strength. The powerful body that could easily snap him in two was such a contrast to the gentle touches from those large, calloused hands that it never failed to arouse him. He broke the kiss for a moment to pull the bunched shirt over his lover’s head and set it carefully to one side before pulling his own shirt off and dropping it more carelessly on top. He knelt for a moment in the loose clasp of Tomor’s legs, letting his eyes and hands run over the broad chest, solid rib cage and hard muscles of Tomor’s belly. His hands looked pale and slender against the golden skin. He leaned forward again to resume their kiss, keeping his body arched to allow his hands more room to play. Tomor’s hands were not idle either, rubbing and stroking him, oh so gently, in the ways he liked best.


“I want you naked,” he murmured into the kiss, “Now!”

“Always impatient,” Tomor’s voice rumbled in reply, but there was more eagerness and amusement than real complaint. They separated and stripped their remaining clothes from their bodies quickly. Tomor took the time to smooth his clothes and stack them while Weylan just kicked his aside in a tangled heap before falling on to the feast of golden skin and muscle before him. His mouth fixed on one dark nipple, teasing it to pebbled hardness. His left hand played with the golden hoop decorating its companion, tugging and twisting it gently to provoke a shiver of arousal through the solid frame of his favourite playground. His right hand roamed further south, tracing the contours of the eager erection he found there and cupping the heavy balls that swung beneath it. Tomor’s hands cradled his body as he lowered them both back to the blanket again before beginning his own explorations. Weylan’s hips flexed helplessly as his cock was engulfed in a hard palm and a thumb rubbed gently across the head, spreading the eager seepage around the sensitive slit. He closed his own hand around Tomor and squeezed before he began to pump slowly. He twisted his hand slightly as it travelled up and down the impressive length in the way he had learned could drive his partner wild. His left hand abandoned the nipple ring and reached for the small vial of oil Tomor had been using to sharpen his weapons. It was only a short stretch to where he could see it sitting near the fire. His hand closed around it and he was pleased to find that it was nicely warm from the heat of the flames; he wouldn’t have to take the time to warm it in his hands before he put it to use.

“Not my best weapon oil!” Tomor groaned as Weylan pulled away from him with his prize.

“Nothing but the finest for you,” Weylan grinned and leered at him. He poured some of the oil into the palm of his left hand and carefully pushed the cork back in to seal it before putting it back where he had got it from. He used the fingers of his right hand to paint Tomor’s cock with the warm oil. “Doesn’t that feel good?”

“Of course it feels good! Do you know how much that costs?” Tomor groused but that didn’t stop him dabbling his own fingers in the small pool and applying it to Weylan’s aching length. Weylan shuddered, it felt really good having the warm, slick oil stroked along his cock by those strong, clever fingers. He nudged Tomor’s heavy thighs further apart and spread the rest of the warm oil between the cheeks of his ass, getting a good coating of the fine oil on his own fingers before sliding into the puckered entrance to prepare his lover. It did not take long to stretch the eager muscles enough to accept him. He groaned as he slowly sheathed himself in the slick heat of his lover’s body. They paused, motionless for an endless moment to savour their joining. Weylan stared into dark eyes, soft with passion; wide lips slightly parted and curved into a smile just for him; and felt the familiar clench in his chest at the thought of this man being his, wanting to be his.

“You performing some mystical rite, up there? Or just waiting for the starting bell?” Tomor’s smile split into a grin and his hips rocked encouragingly.

“I was just savouring the moment,” Weylan sighed and began to thrust slowly. He batted Tomor’s hand away from his cock and wrapped both of his around it. “Mine!” he growled with mock ferocity as he began to move his hands up and down even more slowly than he was thrusting.

“I’m sure it was attached to me last time I checked,” Tomor muttered. He drew his legs up further and wrapped them around Weylan’s waist, settling his broad palms around the cheeks of his ass, thumbs teasing the sensitive hollows of Weylan’s hip bones. “But if that is yours, this must be mine!” He flexed his hands driving Weylan’s cock into his ass faster and further, as he set the rhythm. “Feels sooo good,” he moaned lifting his own hips into the thrusts, “Must be mine!”

Weylan tried to laugh but could only manage a strangled groan as he was slammed into his partner again and again by those relentless hands on his hips. His own hands moved faster and gripped harder as he felt the familiar tension clenching his belly and tightening his balls. He wouldn’t last much longer. Tomor’s hands fell away from him and gripped the blanket as his orgasm took him. Weylan kept the heavy rhythm going, adding a swivelling motion to his hips to prolong his partner’s release. He clamped down on his own bursting need for completion until Tomor went limp beneath him. He buried himself deep in his lover’s ass grinding as close as he could as his own completion ripped through him, emptying him in pulsing waves into the hot depths of his lover. He collapsed panting for breath onto the broad chest waiting for him and pressed his lips to the corded neck in a silent thank you. Heavy arms wrapped across his back, holding him in place, and one large hand settled on his ass with a reassuring squeeze.

“For a skinny little runt, you do very well,” Tomor wheezed after a long companionable silence, “But I think we need to work on your staying power!”

“I’m taller than you,” Weylan pointed out, trying to sound offended, “And I’m only skinny compared to your muscle-bound bulk. But you are right about the staying power. I’ll try again in a moment and see if I can do better. I want to hear you beg before morning.”

“If you intend to keep this up all night,” Tomor didn’t sound particularly displeased with the idea. “We should eat now, before you get your second wind.”

“I don’t know about all night,” Weylan sniffed, pulling away from his comfortable position reluctantly. “I don’t think your ass is up to ‘all night’.”

“My ass can take all that you can give!” Weylan sat up beside him and nipped his shoulder playfully. “And come back for more!”

“We’ll see! Now where’s this food? I’m starving. I haven’t eaten since breakfast!”

“And whose fault is that?” Tomor sniffed and set about serving the thick soup he had simmering by the fire.

Weylan grinned. He loved it when Tomor went into mother hen mode while stark naked. There was just something about being fussed over by all those corded muscles that turned him on. His cock twitched in anticipation as Tomor carefully ladled soup into their mugs, ass clenching as his balance changed. I wonder which of us will have the most trouble walking in the morning, he thought happily.

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