Some distance away, the elf fell face down in the grass. He wanted to stopper his ears from Alva's cries and moans, but suddenly realized he was straining to hear them instead. Imagining two naked bodies, one bronzed, one golden, twisting in the wild dance of passion; Lielle's pupils, dark and huge, unseeing eyes, half-opened scarlet lips, and the barbarian's strong fingers clutching at his lover's hips, his feral grin, beads of sweat on his temples, black braids snaking down his shoulders when he moves to the delirious beat, faster and faster, until ... Ithildin sighed realizing he had been holding his breath the last few minutes.
Lielle always cried this way when he orgasmed under a man. Kintaro liked to hear his lovers cry. They were a good match. Great gods, how well they were matched – the barbarian and the aristocrat, the man he hated and the man he adored, the one who lay with him first, and the one who lay with him last ... They were together now, and he ...
The elf shuddered and sat up when he heard footsteps. Even if he could not see in the dark, he would have recognized Kintaro by the way he moved. And even if he could not see in the dark, he would have known the chief was ready to go at it again, because he has had a chance to experience his potency personally.
"Your turn, doll-face," smirked the Essanti.
"As you wish." The elf rose and began to take off his tunic.
"Not here," Kintaro yanked him. "Come."
Ithildin lost it immediately, gasped and shook his head. "No, please!"
He clutched at the barbarian trying to pull him down to the ground. "I don't want him to see this ... please."
Kintaro laughed, threw the elf over his shoulder and strode to the tent. There, he dropped the elf to the floor in a heap, and began undressing him. Ithildin obediently let his tunic and pants be pulled off. Throughout the ordeal, he kept looking away, at his Lielle. Alva lay on the floor, arms thrown behind his head, naked, spent and languid; his hair was tangled, his skin glistened with sweat. When he finally noticed what was happening, he rose on his elbow and watched Kintaro, surprised.
"Kintaro, let him be," said Alva. He caressed the barbarian's thigh. "Come here instead."
"I said I'd choose my own prize when I free you from the Enqins. And he agreed," said Kintaro, grinning.
"That's true, Alva," the elf assented, listless.
"I choose. My prize is the two of you."
Alva sat up. He sounded completely sober now. "Let him be, chief. I will not allow it."
"Don't worry, he'll like it. The sweet little elf wants me, yes?" Then, with one hand, Kintaro clenched the elf's wrists, and, with another, grabbed his chin to cover the elf's mouth with his.
Kintaro's words were so insulting that Ithildin froze at first, not quite believing what he had heard, and then his assumed indifference shattered to hell. The elf thrashed violently trying to push the barbarian away. When Kintaro had let go of his mouth, the elf was in a frenzy.
"You! You! How dare you! I never ..." he spat out a few more words in his own tongue, the more damning kind.
"Stop it, Kintaro!" shouted Alva.
"Why do you think he is flipping out? He is too chicken to admit, 's all. Not even to himself."
"What tripe! He hates you!"
"My ass he does! I saved his life!"
"After attacking them and killing his kin, and ..."
"Oh, that's what he told you!" Kintaro laughed. "Yes, naturally, the elves do not lie, they merely omit. Perhaps he omitted who had loosed the first arrow? How he shot a fifteen-year old who rode up to them, unarmed? Who had ordered the elves to attack?"
Ithildin felt that his face was on fire. It was true, he had been responsible for the slaughter. The Essanti would have fought them anyway. And if not, if they had ridden past, they might have taken up Miri's trail. Ithildin could not allow it.
"Kintaro, what the hell! Stop it!" Alva tried to pull Kintaro off the elf. "I just don't want to listen. You trip down memory lane – shove it!"
"Alva, take the blinkers off! Can't you see how he shivers whenever I touch him? Give me five minutes, and he'll beg me!"
Kintaro, smirking, illustrated by running his hands over the elf's torso. Ithildin was gulping the air, wanting to thrash blindly, barely restraining himself. The barbarian's touch seared his skin.
"You are nuts!" Alva clutched at Kintaro's shoulder. "First you raped him and then tossed him to your savages to maul, and now you dare ..."
"They would have killed him otherwise, and that would have been a waste. "Boned or bones" – the Essanti custom."
"You should have killed me, with the rest of them." The elf spat every word out through clenched teeth, his voice hoarse. His nostrils flared and he was looking daggers at Kintaro. "I'd rather be dead. I had prayed to die! You could, but you had let me live, you refused to kill me!"
"Yeah, tell us how you wanted to die," said the Essanti. "Any elf can stop his heart any time he wants."
"You lie! We can only do it in extremis, in the face of utter disgrace, and have to wish for death more than ..."
The elf fell silent when he realized what he had just said.
Kintaro leaned over him, grinning.
"Right you are, doll-face. And you had plenty of chances. Throw yourself on a sword, die in battle. We were holding you at knife-point, one twitch and no more elfy! But no, you never twitched. Even when my men were fucking you, you let them. You could have fought to the very end and welcomed a hero's death."
Horror-struck, Ithildin stared at the chief as if he were a judge meting out a harsh but just punishment. He was so used to thinking that he would choose death over shame! But in reality, he wanted to live, wanted to live so desperately he was willing to take what came his way even after he knew how it was going to be. He was cowered not by pain, but by the promise of death he had read in his captors' eyes. And it was not death he had prayed for, but freedom, even though, at the time, the two had seemed the same.
He had chosen this path himself. Now he understood.
"So what now?" hissed the elf. "Think that makes me hate you less? Think I'll forget you were the first to defile me?"
"I captured you, doll-face. Right of conquest." Kintaro came even closer and planted a rough kiss on the elf's lips. "It's an honour to spread for a chieftain," he mocked.
The elf drew back one hand and slapped the barbarian with all his might, but the Essanti did not even flinch. Grinning, he caught the elf's wrist again and pinned it to the floor.
"If you could choose who'd take you first, you'd choose me. Admit you've always liked me. Say how you've pleasured me for weeks in this very tent, just so I would not toss you back to the crowd by the campfire."
"Alva, it's false," cried Ithildin. "He simply brought me to his tent sometimes so nobody else would touch me! He just feared I'd die too soon! He did not touch me either, I was just filth to him!"
The barbarian laughed. The elf looked pleadingly at Lielle, begging him to intervene and shield him from humiliation. But Lielle just looked at them pensively and twirled his long hair.
"I do not relish rape, doll-face."
"Right, you just raped me for my own good!"
"Right. He did the same thing."
"He saved me; you turned me into a whore!"
"So better to have gelded you and sent you to the women? To wash the pots and tan the leathers?"
"So now I have to owe you?" the elf shouted, filled with hatred. "Go on, take me, that's what you want. Go for it! Want gratitude, take me, what are you waiting for, bastard, son-of-a-bitch, beast, you ..."
The elf spat out hoarse curses, face contorted, fists clenched; he struggled to break away from Kintaro. Blinding fury tore down his self-control; he wanted to rip at Kintaro's throat, hit him, wipe the self-assured smirk off his face. He was not even noticing that, for the first time in his life, his was uttering the vile human invectives, the crude turns of phrases he had memorized, in spite of himself, in taverns and barracks he had frequented with Lielle.
"Glad we agreed on something," growled Kintaro and closed his fingers around the elf's hard member.
Ithildin felt scorching shame when he realized how much the struggle had aroused him. Shocking ... it had only been Lielle before ... He did not get to the end of this particular thought, because, at that very moment, Kintaro kissed him, forcefully running his tongue into Ithildin's mouth, his hot body over the elf's and his fingers rhythmically stroking the elf's penis.
Waves of heat rolled through the elf's body, red fog rose before his eyes, and madness consumed him. With a strangled cry, he pulled his hands free from the barbarian's grip, dug his nails into the dusky broad shoulders, and wrapped his legs around the strong hips, rising to meet him, attacking his lips with the full force of his raging desire.
Ithildin remembered only vaguely how they both kept stroking him, how Lielle's tongue went for his most intimate spots, as he gasped and whimpered, while Kintaro preyed on his mouth and fondled his nipples; how they made him spend and used his silvery spunk for lubricant, how the barbarian took him from behind, while Lielle rubbed against his front, kissed his lips, his chest, his neck, caressed him, and then there were stars beneath his eyelids, and then, for a while, there was nothing because he fainted for the first time in his two hundred fifty years. He came to his senses caught between Lielle and Kintaro, both still turned on, and soon the elf could not distinguish who was touching him or whose flesh was piercing him.
Ithildin and Kintaro, fanart by Talleran to this very chapter XD