“My lord,” he rasped, voice torn, reverent.
Aerion’s breath hitched. Then Clyde bent, wrapped his lips around him, and took him deep.
Aerion cried out, hands flying to tangle in Clyde’s hair, his back bowing as wet heat swallowed him whole. Clyde’s tongue pressed hard to the underside, dragging slow, deliberate circles until Aerion was shaking, sobbing, hips jerking helplessly.
“Fuck—fuck, yes—” Aerion gasped, thighs trembling. He thrust shallowly, desperate, reckless, and Clyde let him, let him fuck his mouth, gagging slightly but never pulling away. Hisgroans vibrated around Aerion’s cock, pleasure shooting sharp through every nerve.
Aerion spilled before he could stop it, release flooding Clyde’s mouth with a broken scream of his name. Clyde swallowed it all, lips and chin slick, eyes never leaving Aerion’s as he pulled back, breath ragged.
But Aerion wasn’t done.
“Inside me,” he demanded, pulling him up by the hair, kissing him hard, tasting himself on Clyde’s tongue. “Now.”
Clyde’s hands fumbled with his breeches, pulling himself free, cock thick and straining. He slicked himself with spit, guided Aerion’s thighs wider, and pressed in.
Aerion moaned into his mouth as the stretch split him open—pain, heat, ecstasy all tangled together. “More,” he begged, clutching at Clyde’s shoulders, nails digging deep. “All of you—please—”
Clyde drove deep with one long, merciless thrust that left them both gasping. Aerion cried out, head thrown back, body arched in offering.
The rhythm came hard and fast—Clyde pounding into him, deep, punishing strokes that had the cot rocking, the canvas walls trembling with the violence of it. Aerion sobbed with every thrust, his voice breaking, hands clawing for purchase, body shaking apart.
“You feel—fuck—you feel like you’ll split me open,” he gasped, tears streaking his cheeks, his cock hard again, leaking against his stomach from nothing but the pounding inside him.
“My lord,” Clyde growled into his throat, biting hard enough to bruise.
“Yes—yes—yours—” Aerion screamed, legs locking around his waist, dragging him in deeper, until Clyde bottomed out with every thrust.
Their bodies slammed together, flesh slick with sweat, moans and curses spilling into the night. Aerion came again untouched, seed spilling hot across his stomach, his cry raw, broken. Clyde followed with a guttural groan, spilling deep, his body collapsing against Aerion’s, both of them trembling, gasping, undone.
For a moment, Aerion lay sprawled against him, his breath hot against Clyde’s chest, his fingers tracing the ridges of scars. Peace—fragile, fleeting—settled in Clyde’s bones.
Until his gaze flicked toward the shadows at the tent’s edge.
A silhouette lingered just outside.
Renn. Watching.
Aerion’s eyes narrowed, his lips curling in disdain. He said nothing. He only turned, buried his face in Clyde’s neck, and closed his eyes.
But suspicion coiled in his gut like smoke, sharp and sour, refusing to be ignored.
The next morning, grey light bled through the canvas of Clyde’s tent. The camp stirred faintly beyond—the distant clatter of arms, the cough of horses, the murmur of men roused too early—but within, the world was small, hushed.
They shared a breakfast of stale bread and thin cheese, spread across Clyde’s travel-worn table. Aerion tore his loaf apart like it had personally offended him, scattering crumbs across the maps Clyde had left half-rolled beneath.
Finally, the words tumbled out, sharp and bitter.
“They want me to marry,” Aerion spat. “Every damned vassal, every councillor with a title in their blood and greed in their veins. Suitors lined like lambs at slaughter. Men, women, sons, daughters—any alliance so long as I breed and make heirs.”
He slammed the bread down, fingers clenching into fists.
Clyde chewed slowly, carefully, buying time in silence. Then, quietly, without lifting his eyes: “They’re right. One day you will have to.”
Aerion froze. The words cut deeper than they should have.
His head snapped up, sapphire fire blazing. “So that’s it? That’s what I mean to you? A duty with a cock? You want me to marry some dull-eyed baron’s daughter while you polish my armour and pretend last night never happened?”
“Aerion—”
