Page 23 of The Sun He Buried

“Muscle is only what strength looks like from the outside.” Baldr shifts closer so a pair of sailors can pass behind us. “We take what keeps the body standing.”

At the stall, the gold-eyed man holds out one hand. “The full measure?”

The donor nods. “The full measure.”

The woman behind the counter turns the sandglass.

The Skorvær sets his palm flat against the center of the man’s bare chest. His other hand closes around the man’s forearm.

Both gold eyes brighten.

The donor’s breath catches.

Then he comes apart, slowly. The muscles across his stomach give first. His shoulders drop. His knees fall wide around the Skorvær between them. His whole face goes loose and grateful.

The front of his trousers tightens.

So does the Skorvær’s.

Right.

I look at the sign instead.

That works until I run out of sign.

“Is that part of it?” I ask, more or less at Baldr. “The feeding, I mean. Or is that its own thing.”

Baldr follows my gaze without any of my trouble. “The drain feels good. So does taking what you need.”

“That wasn’t the question and you know it.”

“Some people find the exchange sensual.” He doesn’t drop his voice to say it. “Some arrange it that way.”

I make myself look. Properly.

I know exactly what I’m seeing. Bare skin, wide knees, the man’s hand fisted in the Skorvær’s shoulder—plain want, all of it.

It does nothing to me.

The last of the sand goes.

The woman taps one finger on the counter, and the Skorvær lifts his hand. The donor sways. The Skorvær holds his shoulder until his eyes settle, and the smile stays, loose and easy. He got what he came for.

The Skorvær sets his coin on the counter and turns to go.

The donor’s hand lifts after him. Wanting the next one already. Then he catches it—rolls his shoulders, scrubs a hand down his face, and settles back against the bench, bare chest to the cold, a working man waiting for the next buyer to sit down.

It only makes me sad.

When I look back at Baldr, the laugh’s gone out of him too.

Baldr looks down the lane. “There’s a baker at the bottom terrace.”

“Very far.”

“He has the little pastries with apple in the middle.”

I look at him.