Ekleipsis (Fantasy Romance - LGBT, manXman)

4.5.

Kintaro came back at dusk. He was naked, braids half-undone, and filled the tent with his large body and deep voice. While he was away, Ithildin and Alva lay entwined, going over the weeks they had spent apart. But they were already kissing right before Kintaro showed up, slow and tender, desire building. They sprung apart when Kintaro entered, as if caught.

"I'm just in the nick of time," said Kintaro wedging between them and grabbing Ithildin. "This time, doll-face, I'll start with you."

Face twisted in anguish, the elf tried to struggle free. He was determined not to surrender to the barbarian this time. Had Kintaro asked, Ithildin would have shouted "No." But the barbarian opted for rape again. Fine. Let him handle an elf who is not wounded, beaten or half-dead! Even if the elf has to struggle with his own urges at the same time.

Ithildin roughly broke Kintaro's grasp, the chief threw him on the pelts and fell on top, but the elf used all his strength and wriggled out. Teeth clenched, they silently fought on the tent floor rolling all over each other. They were pretty evenly matched: the elf more agile, the nomad heavier. Ithildin did not have the full advantage because the tent was too small, and, besides, Kintaro was holding his wrists, so Ithildin could neither hit him nor push him away.

At last, Kintaro threw Ithildin face down, twisted his arm behind his back, and dropped with all his weight on top of the elf. Breathing heavily, Ithildin writhed under him – oh, great gods, it would have been easier to get out from under a huge fallen oak, then get free of this barbarian and his chest of stone.

Kintaro breathed in his ear and purred, "Wanna ask me something?"

"Fuck you," spat out Ithildin and tried to get out again. He just couldn't think of anything better to say. Especially since something else of the barbarian's was made out of stone and now rubbed against Ithildin's behind.

The nomad had started to move his hips lazily and kept on sighing into Ithildin's ear. As if they were making love instead of fighting, and what if that animal starts to kiss him!

Ithildin remembered the traditional Essanti fight that he had witnessed often, and felt hot all over. The nomads would meet in a challenge, bare-fisted, unarmed and naked, and the winner would get to have the looser right on the "battlefield," in the trampled grass.

"You are both mad, you know," said Lielle's voice from somewhere on the left.

"The silly elf thinks he can resist me," Kintaro chuckled. "Bet he has one hell of a hard-on already."

Ithildin was failing to cover his arousal and confusion. He hissed venomously, "Just try doing something in that position. Or what, you'll just lie on top of me and drool?"

Alva whistled and Kintaro howled.

"The redhead has corrupted you good and proper, little elf," he finally managed, "so just say it. You are dying to be had. Go on, don't be shy."

The Essanti pulled the elf up to kneel. Ithildin thought he would break free as soon as the chief's hold on him loosened, but did not get to it fast enough. Kintaro gripped Ithildin across the chest with one arm, and reached for the elf's crotch. The chief's hand burned, as if raking across raw nerves. Ithildin inhaled with a hiss and stiffened in Kintaro's unwelcome embrace. But after a few seconds of tantalizingly slow fondling, Ithildin sported a splendid hard-on.

"Missed me, elf?"

Kintaro caressed Ithildin's chest with the tips of his fingers, and then mercilessly attacked his neck. The barbarian sucked hard on the delicate skin, making the elf whimper and throw back his head. Ithildin let his arms drop, and his entire body relaxed, with the exception of the bit grown painfully hard under Kintaro's hand. Pleasure was pain. Kintaro caused it, and only he could soothe it.

"Hate you," breathed Ithildin.

"Ask me if I care. Just keep your legs spread."

"Bastard," mumbled the elf, and went on moaning as he felt the unrelenting, strong yet masterful fingers move inside him.

"Bitch," whispered Kintaro tenderly, and drew the elf to him by the hips.

Then, suddenly, Lielle was between Ithildin's legs, kissing him. When Ithildin felt the tumbling silk of Alva's loose hair, his mind swam. The Essanti took him as he stood, kneeling, and that blossom of Creedan nobility proceeded to suck artfully on the elf's manhood.

Nothing was left in the world except shameless enjoyment, hands, lips, hair, hips, legs, skin, smooth and slick with sweat ... and no way out of the sweet blackout. Not when one of your lovers be a refined and sensuous aristocrat, and the other – a wild and insatiable savage.

But Ithildin never gave in to Kintaro without a fight. Whenever the chief peremptorily tossed him on the pelts, as had become his habit, overpowered him, kissed him, and grabbed his crotch, the elf struggled. In truth, he never managed to last past half an hour. As soon as Kintaro grabbed him and began to fondle and nibble at the most sensitive spots, the elf became powerless ... especially if Lielle slyly joined in. Together, they instantly turned Ithildin into a lascivious creature moaning and writhing atop the pelts.

Resistance was futile – but the elf still tried. It was more of a sop to his pride, since nothing else was left. The barbarian irked him with every gesture, every word and every memory he brought back to the elf. He hated Kintaro for the power he exerted, for the strange bonds forged by their past and their future; bonds the elf could not sever, but still tried to resist.

But he never said "no." He liked fighting Kintaro. Now the elf enjoyed the privilege of telling Kintaro to go to hell, breaking out of his cloying embrace, kicking, scratching, bruising and lacerating. Seeing the marks afterwards, Ithildin felt curiously satisfied. It was payback for his previous helpless compliance. These days, Kintaro could not get him scot-free, and the barbarian never tired of the game. Neither did the elf.

And Lielle never tired of watching. Ithildin was constantly aware of his lover avidly watching their squabbles from a distance and waiting for a chance to join in. Afterwards, the two, having let off some steam, would pounce on Alva, join their efforts, and drive Alva wild with their caresses. The elf never ceased wondering at how sweet, sensual and ardent his Lielle was.

And if his lover preferred the composed and proper Ithildin of old, he of the quiet voice and impeccable manners, he certainly never let it show.

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The link to a beautiful fanart by Citrina added in comments XD