The Conqueror, page 10
“Gwen…!” His whisper was strained, body sluggishly trying to struggle, but Gwen was heavy atop him—and nude, Marcus realized with a fresh shock. He could feel skin against his skin, suddenly grasping that his own clothing was gone as well. His hands shook as he lifted them to fumble at Gwen’s shoulders, trying to discourage him—aching to hold him closer.
At almost the same moment, Gwen’s voice came from the darkness—“Markus…” His low tones were rough, the sound speaking of lustful intent. Then—“Plees,” and another kiss, even hungrier than the first.
At that, Marcus’ cock went rigid, swollen to fullness and throbbing. He was lost, helpless with that one word. Can it be true…that he should desire…? Heart racing and breath shaking, Marcus moaned into the other man’s mouth. When Gwen released his lips, still close enough to heat the moist skin with each breath, he could only gasp, “Yes, Gwen, yes!” His arms were around the man at once, gathering him close and pressing their bodies together, hot and already damp with sweat.
He could barely see Gwen in the dark, but a hand touched his face and guided their mouths together again. Marcus quickly took the lead, kissing Gwen with a blazing passion. He did not understand—but he did not need to. He had been yearning for Gwen for so long, denying his soul-deep desires so relentlessly, uncaring of how much it hurt to do so. Now that Gwen was coming to his bed willingly, Marcus could have wept for joy, and his kisses and his urgent embrace made his wholehearted welcome plain.
Gwen shifted, lying more fully atop him, and Marcus felt the heat of his hard prick against his hip. He tried to pull Gwen nearer, bring their bodies into a more sensual alignment, but Gwen resisted the pull, instead speeding the pace of his hand stroking Marcus’ cock. Marcus choked, groaned, and met the heady questing of Gwen’s mouth with ravenous kisses. He…couldn’t bear this, not for long. “Gwen,” he moaned into the man’s mouth, desperate with need. Then he began to push upward, seeking to roll them over and push Gwen down upon the bed.
The hand on his cock tightened—warning. Marcus faltered, a strangled gasp falling from his lips. “Markus…” Gwen’s voice was breathy as well. Then he released Marcus to bring both hands to his chest, pressing insistently down, returning Marcus to his back. “Plees.”
He only hesitated a moment—happily, it only took a moment for Marcus to realize that Gwen might need to keep control of this. Perhaps it was a lingering fear after the rape; perhaps it was meaningful in some other way. It mattered not—Marcus had forced him down before; he owed him this. He would obey and let Gwen have whatever he wanted. “Yes,” he whispered his agreement, body softening and submitting, lying back and allowing Gwen to do as he pleased.
“Mai thanks.” The words were soft in the darkness, but Marcus thought he heard a slight smile to them. Then Gwen was kissing him again.
When Gwen moved, it was slow and calculated—their bodies aligned, hot, hard cocks rubbing together, and Marcus had to fight down his urges again, but he managed to remain mostly passive and let Gwen be the one to roll his hips and gently thrust against his erection. Marcus poured himself into kisses instead, answering Gwen’s every gentle probe with intense feeling.
All but blind, Marcus’ other senses came alive in the blackness. He could hear every soft sound in the silence of deepest night—every shish of fabric or skin on skin, every little wet sound of their joined mouths, every soft gasp and moan of Gwen’s every breath.
He was drowning in scent. The heady musk of fresh sweat, the hint of wild-grass and open air that clung subtly to Gwen’s hair. The furs and skins of the bed, mingled with the masculine aroma of Gwen—like the first time. On the furs, in Gwen’s little hut—the first time he’d known this scent. Whatever Marcus might regret, he could only feel pleasure in this moment of recognition.
And touch. Touch. He could feel everything. Every whisper of contact, every barest brush of Gwen’s body, the roughness of his beard, his hair falling onto Marcus’ face, his fingers tracing wherever they wished. He trembled with each new caress. Gwen’s hands gripped his neck, bracing and strong…then softened and slid down, exploring his chest with rubbing pressure over every muscle. There was something in that touch—something very eager, something admiring. Marcus wished he could see Gwen’s eyes. Oh, to know for sure if Gwen was looking at him the way he always looked at Gwen! But the thought vanished like smoke as Gwen’s hands moved onward, briefly dancing over his stomach, teasing Marcus with the hope that Gwen would touch his cock again before he instead moved up, fingers sliding from Marcus’ clavicles down his biceps and further, all the way down both his arms to his hands.
Gwen’s mouth grew hot and urgent, yet clumsy; his hips thrust harder, yet not as smoothly. Even so, Marcus was lost in the sensations, and only faintly remembered Gwen’s hands, which laced fingers with his own briefly, giving a soft squeeze before letting go. He felt fingertips still moving, however—tracing over his palms absently as Gwen arched above him and his whole body began to rock, almost writhing with passion.
“Gwen,” he gasped, almost broken by his own need. The name fell from his lips like a prayer, chanted reverently, “Gwen, Gwen, Gwen, Gwen…” The featherlike touch of Gwen’s fingers traced their patterns upward again, along the inside of his wrists and forearms, as Gwen shifted his hips forward. Marcus felt the grasp of legs against his sides as his cock slipped between Gwen’s legs. When the man rocked back again, Marcus felt his erection rubbing the firm curve of Gwen’s backside. There was a slickness on his skin that was more than just sweat, and Marcus sucked in a shaking breath.
If this wasn’t some midnight tryst, driven by impulsive lust…if Gwen had actually prepared himself…!
One of Gwen’s hands lifted, and Marcus felt it next when it touched his cock, lightly stroking and nudging the shaft into the cleft of Gwen’s buttocks. “Markus…” the voice in the dark was half moan, half pleading gasp. He felt Gwen’s other hand caress his chest, pressing over his heart.
“Please…yes, Gwen, yes!” It took all the willpower he could summon to restrain himself from grabbing the man and impaling him in one lust-maddened thrust. His determination alone might not have been enough, but adoration strengthened him. Gwen was his desire—he wanted to submit to him, to let him take what he pleased.
And, in the blinding dark, Gwen did.
He sat up a bit, angling his hips back as his hand guided Marcus toward the center of his ass, to the warm, slick flesh that parted slowly around the head of his cock.
Then more. Slowly. Deeper.
Marcus was trembling, biting back moans of bliss as Gwen sank down, his body slick and warm and opening to take Marcus in deep. The soft sound of Gwen’s voice filled his ears—whispers in his pagan tongue, murmuring in the dark.
Then Gwen stopped, panting. Marcus felt himself fully seated in the man’s body. Gwen was propping himself up with a hand over Marcus’ heart, leaning heavily on it. His fingers twitched, clutching and releasing impulsively—the action mirrored by the muscles of Gwen’s buttocks. Marcus moaned as the fluttering grasp around his prick nearly shredded his already-thin control. He was answered by a thin, strained sound from Gwen. Pain? Probably. Even with preparation, it had been weeks. Gwen was tight—hot and wet and oh, so tight around him. Marcus wanted to roll them over and ease out a bit, let Gwen take his cock more gradually, while he rubbed and caressed the man everywhere, relaxing his entire body. Next time…next time. If Gwen desired…
With a grunt, Gwen lifted upward and dropped down again—an awkward but effective beginning that made his desires clear. Though his breathing was ragged with pain, Gwen refused to stop. He took Marcus in again with another hard, clumsy lift and drop. Marcus could feel the trembling in Gwen’s body, everywhere they touched. His legs around Marcus’ hips, the hand still on his chest—the hot clasp of his body, shuddering with the strain of this coupling.
He couldn’t bear to lie still any more. Without pushing Gwen any further or taking away his control, Marcus reached down and found his legs in the darkness. Running his hands over the tense, shaking muscles, he slowly caressed his way up to Gwen’s hips. He held him there, fingers rubbing soothingly as Gwen lifted himself again—still awkward, still unsteady, but less abrupt when he sank down again.
Reverently, Marcus’s hands stroked over Gwen’s body, seeing him without sight in the darkness. He felt the arch of hipbones under his fingers, the flat of Gwen’s stomach, his skinny waist, his ribs, the coarse hair over his chest. He let his touch glide down through the trail of hair, the back of his thumb brushing the hot, hard shaft of Gwen’s erection, almost by accident as he let his hand rest low on Gwen’s abdomen. His other hand returned to Gwen’s thigh as that one hovered, awaiting some indication that touching Gwen’s manhood would not be too forward.
With a faint sound of pleasure, Gwen moved again—this time, it was a shaky push against Marcus’ hand. A quest for more of that touch. Still caressing his thigh, Marcus let his other hand lift and turn, his fingertips brushing Gwen’s prick now, lightly tracing around him—easily removed with the brush of a hand, if Gwen chose.
Gwen did not. He rolled his hips again, thrusting into Marcus’ hand, and at that, Marcus finally took hold of him fully. He was answered at once with a pleasure-soaked moan, Gwen nudging his prick into Marcus’ grasp. Urging him to stroke. Then he reared up and took Marcus in again, and this time it was almost magical how smoothly Marcus’ cock sank into his body. Marcus moaned himself, his body burning for more, but he forced himself to wait and threw his need to act into touching Gwen’s body and stroking him into a frenzy of lust.
Again and again, Gwen moved on top of him. It was not always smooth—Gwen’s pace faltered still, making the rhythm waver. Some moments they came together perfectly, falling into each other with a grace that seemed enchanted. Other moments were broken, abrupt, or too rough, too quick. Much of it fell somewhere in between, as Gwen bobbed atop Marcus and gradually felt out a pace he could keep.
It was obvious—so obvious—that Gwen had never done this before. Marcus still couldn’t swear that he was a virgin before they met, but he knew, at least, that Gwen had never been given control with another man, like this. Knowing that made the best moments seem almost impossible, like only witchcraft could teach Gwen to ride Marcus’ cock so perfectly. And then he’d falter again, and Marcus would forget about witchcraft and think about first times, and how this one, Gwen had chosen to give to him, and no amount of unsteadiness could dim his ardor.
If Gwen faltered, Marcus’ hand on his prick quickly made him forget, stroking his pleasure higher, urging him onward—banishing hesitation. When their coupling found that wonderful rhythm, Gwen controlled how much pleasure he received from Marcus’ hand—and Marcus focused instead on touching as much of Gwen as he could. After a time, he even dared to caress down the firm line of Gwen’s back, his hand sliding into place over one of Gwen’s buttocks. When that was not discouraged, Marcus dared to gently squeeze. He heard a whimper of pleasure that encouraged him to do more of that, so he did, feeling the muscles clench as Gwen rode him.
Gwen’s prick was leaking steadily into Marcus’ hand, now, and Marcus was in the same condition—Gwen had grown wetter inside, thanks to that. His voice was still soft, but strained, as though he was withholding loud sounds of pleasure. Marcus, at least, certainly was. He longed to groan and cry out and muffle those sounds against Gwen’s skin, kissing and sucking every part of his body. Still, he restrained himself, letting Gwen carry both of them closer to the edge—in his own time.
It wasn’t far off, either. Gwen moved with less intention, less caution—more desperation as he neared the peak. It was…truly like feeling a spell work. The less he was able to think about what he was doing, the more instinct took over, and as the pace began to escalate into a wild race to completion, the stumbling and awkwardness quietly smoothed out and vanished. Marcus could feel it all—the way Gwen’s hips rolled, his legs and buttocks flexing smoothly, driving him up and down relentlessly on Marcus’ cock. The way his prick dribbled warm fluid into Marcus’ hand. The way his breathing was fast and heavy and almost perfectly matched to Marcus’ gasps for air and self-restraint.
They were one—joined together in the throes of passion and pleasure, feeling the same heat, reaching for the same climax while carrying each other there. Marcus couldn’t keep his hips entirely still anymore—not with any amount of restraint. As Gwen sank down, he thrust up to meet him, hilting his cock within Gwen’s body. So deep—so wonderfully hot, fully inside him.
“Markus!” It was a strained cry, breaking from those lips in the dark—a pleading sound and a demanding one. Then Gwen trembled, gasping as he came. The hot splash of his orgasm on Marcus’ chest and in his hand was too much, even without sight to confirm it. By sound and feel, Marcus came undone. He stroked Gwen eagerly through the climax, and when he was spent, Marcus moved his hand away from the man’s sensitive prick and grasped his hips with both hands.
Gwen was almost limp atop him—barely holding himself up as his legs shuddered with aftershocks. He wasn’t much help…but Marcus didn’t need help. He lifted Gwen a bit and thrust up, hard and fast, into the soft, wet heat of his body. Gwen’s moans rose again as Marcus pounded into him, but there was no protest in them—nothing but helpless lust, encouraging him, spurring him on. And on he went, pumping his hips hard for another minute as he felt his own peak approach, hover, and then break.
Hot bliss washed over him as he came—buried deep inside Gwen. Marcus grunted as his seed spurted hard and fast into Gwen’s body—filling him, soaking him…claiming him, or so it felt to Marcus in the moment. Mine, he thought, he is mine. Not by any coercion or force, but by Gwen’s choosing. Marcus was overcome with gratitude, even as he felt Gwen’s buttocks lightly squeeze and caress his still-spurting cock—milking him for every hot drop of semen he had to give.
His ejaculations slowed, fading. Exhausted, Marcus collapsed onto his back, body slack and boneless. His cock was slowly softening, beginning to slip out of Gwen’s body. Gwen remained atop him, straddling his hips, and Marcus felt a yearning wish that he would lay down beside him now. He didn’t want to force anything from Gwen, but oh, he longed for the man to come into his arms now, with soft kisses and sweet intimacy. He wanted to hold Gwen close until dawn, to whisper into his ear all the words Gwen still didn’t understand, in a grateful, adoring tone he surely would.
Gwen’s soft voice broke through his dream, and Marcus realized that the man had been murmuring softly in his barbarian tongue. Lying in the dark, soft and pliant with post-coitus, Marcus just listened, wondering. Such a strange tongue…I wish I could understand it. The tone, however—well, that was odd too. He could not hear much emotion in it, though it was gentle…yet also distant, in a way that gave Marcus the odd feeling that Gwen wasn’t speaking to him.
Curious, Marcus began to sit up, but before he had even moved, Gwen’s hands upon his chest stopped him, gently pressing him back down. He sank back, feeling the warmth of Gwen’s hands travel across his chest and shoulders and down his arms, spreading them to either side of his body.
Suddenly, Gwen’s hands tightened into manacles around his wrists, his voice dropped, and the tone of his barbarian words became deep and commanding. Marcus felt a force—he hardly knew how to understand it. It was like the strength of a sea wind in a storm slamming his whole body, pinning him down. The pressure of Gwen’s hands lifted, but the force remained steady, and Marcus, confused, tried to raise himself.
When he couldn’t move his arms, reflexes kicked in and he threw his full strength against the force.
Nothing.
He kicked, and his legs wouldn’t move either. He tried to thrash, but Gwen’s hand was back over his heart, pressing down, his pagan words commanding again in a tone that resonated with an ancient depth Marcus had never heard from him before. He felt another force hit him, this one more like a punch square in the chest, radiating out through his every limb—an all-consuming laxness. His whole body simply went limp, and even his most desperate attempts to tense for movement failed completely. Marcus could not even lift a finger, and the moment he realized this, his secondary instincts as a fighter kicked in.
Strength having failed, his senses all became incredibly sharp as he stilled his mind, listening and watching and taking in everything, attempting to assess what was happening. Ready to form a strategy of response the moment he knew what he was dealing with.
Gwen spoke again, his voice hollow. “Yg gwyd cant en aryal en emwyt, Gweinydyawr ysgwydawr yg gweithyen.” The words were strange to Marcus’ ear, but there was a rhythm, a rise and fall to them. He knew it for an incantation. He is cursing me…or killing me. And I am helpless.
Cold with fear, Marcus waited…watched. All the pleasure and warmth was dead and forgotten. What he had taken for an act of mutual desire and release now looked like a trap, done to render him helpless against druid enchantments. A part of him knew that he had earned any vengeance Gwen wished to enact, but another part of him had hoped…
Voice sharpening into another command, Gwen spoke a few short barbarian words…and the fire blazed to life in the hearth. The sudden light was low, and eerily much redder than the usual gold and bronze of firelight. By the dim illumination, Marcus could finally see Gwen, still straddling his hips, and he caught his breath at the sight.
The man he had just coupled with was covered in frightening, strange markings, drawn all over his nude body with something dark that had mostly resisted smearing. Though Gwen was still soaked with sweat that was only beginning to dry, and though Marcus’ hands had caressed much of his skin, the pagan runes still showed sharply on his body—hands and arms, chest and stomach, legs, feet, neck, face. It gave Gwen a grisly aspect, like some wild-lands monster sitting on Marcus’ lap. The part of him grieving the betrayal nearly died at the sight, leaving behind only horror and repulsion.
