Ekleipsis (Fantasy Romance - LGBT, manXman)

9.9

The third member of the company was the most confusing. Judging by his looks, a steppe nomad, clearly an Essanti at that: tall, dark, broad-shouldered, no clothes except skin-tight leather pants with nothing underneath, eagle feathers in his braids, a jasper necklace and matching earrings, a traditional atarink − longsword − on his back. There was no traditional round shield anywhere. His bronze skin was covered all over with intricate patterns − either tattoos or war paint or ritual scarring, it was hard to tell for sure. On his forehead there was a naked sword drawn or tattooed, pointing to the bridge of his nose. Neither Alva nor Ithildin ever saw anything even remotely resembling that barbaric piece of art. It looked incredibly erotic.

Kintaro, on the other hand, clearly did. He was not surprised in the slightest. He was the first to come closer to the campfire, and the Essanti brave stood up to greet him. They slapped each other on the shoulders, shook hands in the steppe custom, gripping forearms, not palms, flashed their white teeth at each other and exchanged some words in their tongue.

"Welcome to our humble abode," the woman said in the Common tongue. Her manners were painfully familiar − a cavalry captain from Selkhir or an adventurer from the docks of Trianess.

Still dazed, Alva and Ithildin sat by the fire, and it just so happened that Alva found himself by the lady-adventurer's side, and Ithildin − by the man in white who looked like an elf. Alva would have given anything just to look at his ears! Kintaro was stuck with the painted brave and looked at him with such admiration, as if he was ready to suck him off right here, right now. It was entirely possible he was going to do exactly that.

As it was done everywhere where the tradition of hospitality existed, they were given food and drink without any questions. The wine was thick and sweet, the bread fresh and fragrant, the venison well-done, with a touch of spicy steppe herbs. They ate in silence, which was not awkward at all. They all were enjoying their food and the comfortable calmness of the night steppe.

No one asked for names or gave theirs. There was an impression that the mysterious strangers knew all there was to know about them anyway. They often exchanged meaningful glances, as if conversing without words. Alva wanted to talk to them, but he didn't know what to say. Ask them how they had found themselves in the middle of the steppe in such uncommon clothes, and without horses at that? Ask them how they had known the portal would take them here and not to Selkhir? Ask them who they were and what they wanted? Instinct told him none of his questions would be answered. Here, near that fire, under those skies, any questions would have been out of place. They would have ruined the atmosphere of magic and mystery which the strangers were surrounded with. And, deep down, he had some suspicions who they might have been, those three strangers he had met in the velvety darkness of the warm steppe night.

The woman's eyes were of a dark-blue color, like the evening sky. She watched Alva point-blank, and her gaze made Alva feel self-conscious. He looked away and saw Kintaro and the steppe brave get up, take out their swords and go away from the fire, to mock-fight to their heart's content. Two silver elves were silent, immovable, looking into each other's eyes, holding hands. Words were of no use to them.

The woman took his chin and turned him to face her.

"So much like your father," she whispered before pressing her hot mouth to his.

They traded long, passionate kisses; she savoured his lips as if she was drinking mead from his mouth, as if she was trying to take his breath away. Had she wanted more than a kiss, Chevalier Ahayrre wouldn't dream of refusing her. But she was content with just kisses. It's not necessary to pluck a rose in order to smell it. She was just a person who wouldn't pass up a rose.

And then it was suddenly over, as if they woke up from a dream, and they were alone in the camp: Alva with a smile of pure bliss on his lips, Kintaro, panting, covered in sweat − the new friend must have given him a run for his money − and Ithildin, pink with excitement, not a shred of his usual restraint.