He remembered the rest in bits and pieces. The Essanti roared when he dropped the last piece of clothing and rose in the firelight. He knew what they were seeing. Everybody who saw him naked compared him, with surprising lack of originality, to a golden statue. This was Alva's last coherent thought. Then he was past caring; he saw nothing but the helpless body of his unasked-for victim, as if everything else had disappeared.
Alva turned the elf over on his back, and bent over him, intoxicated by the smell of his skin, miraculously free of the stench of the Essanti camp. Surrendering to temptation, he kissed the irresistible inflamed lips, as gently and tenderly as he could, careful not to hurt. Perhaps he was wrong, but the elf's mouth seemed to move slightly in response, and something akin to curiosity flickered in his dull eyes. Though this must have been just an illusion, the very thought excited Alva, and he took the elf using his own spit as a lubricant. He made every effort to keep himself in check, he did his best to be slow and gentle, as if taking a young boy, a virgin, oh, god, he does look like a boy, eighteen at most, he could be any age, a thousand even... But the sound Alva heard — a slight moan escaping the bloodless hyacinth petals of his lips — was definitely not an illusion. He must have hurt him somehow. But the elf had not cried under torture, why was Alva making him cry out?
He could no longer think about anything, as the sweeping wave of desire dragged him towards the finish. He came, clutching at the elf and kissing him deliriously, as if they had just made love. In a few moments, the world resumed, and Alva felt a strong hand lifting him to his feet.
"Take the prisoner to the tent of our esteemed guest. None but him is to touch the elf henceforth," ordered Kintaro. Then the chief grabbed Alva and kissed him.
Unsurprised, Alva realized that Kintaro had already dropped his clothes and had a full hard-on. Alva was dizzy and swaying drunkenly, but wine had nothing to do with it. He was still aroused, and his lips returned Kintaro's demanding kiss on their own, while his arms twined around the chief's neck.
Kintaro laughed. "I should still ask you, northerner, as our customs demand. Will you be mine tonight?"
"Haven't got much choice, have I?" said Alva hoarsely, wrapping himself around the bronzed warrior. He could no longer stand on his own.
Quivering with anticipation, he let himself be thrown on the pelts and gave himself over to Kintaro's brutish caress. He whimpered shamelessly, like the cheapest of whores. In a few minutes, the chief flattened Alva with his heavy body, and took him brazenly, making Alva shudder from pleasure spiced with pain. The part of Alva that remained sober told him that wine and the pretty elf had done it — Alva was mad with lust and would be easy prey. If anyone wanted him after the Essanti chief, Alva would be powerless to refuse.
Kintaro, however, had no plans to share. Turned out the first bout was just a prelude. Then he took Alva to his tent. Evidently, Kintaro was indefatigable. In between caresses, when his brain turned briefly back on, Alva wondered if Kintaro had been made chief for that very reason, and nearly burst into hysterical laughter.
He let Kintaro do what he wanted to him, hoping to find oblivion in the relentless flood of the barbarian's passion. The elf's face stood before his inner gaze, he remembered kissing the elf, touching him, feeling the quiver of the silver body as he penetrated its tight cool depths. Alva could not shake off the obsession, even as the Essanti's mouth and strong hands besieged him, hurting and leaving love bites and bruises. Liquid fire flowed through his veins and his loins burned with the insatiable desire that he was powerless to stem. It could only be dulled somewhat, when the wild nomad ripped into him, growling, nails raking Alva's shoulders, and the tsunami of his orgasm shook Alva's entire body, temporarily clouding his senses still filled with the memory of the prisoner elf.
Kintaro, fanart by Anna Valerius