Lark in the Stable

Lark in the Stable

By Lana Lovelace

Lark sat at the table in the tavern, pushing cooked root vegetables around his plate. He was bored. Being an apprentice to one of the King's soldiers should be about journeys and battles, not sitting around waiting for them to get up from their nap.

However, he dared not leave the grounds of the tavern due to the trouble he'd caused in the square the night before. Talim had deserved the beating he got, but the village constable would not see it that way. Fortunately, in here, his mentor's reputation kept the thugs at bay.

Plus, he had still been hungry. Now though, as the sun neared its zenith, Lark felt a different type of hunger.

He noticed Lysa, the tavern maid, gliding about the room serving patrons. While they had grown up together, Lark hadn't noticed her until she became a true woman this last winter. Her curly hair was tied back in a neat braid, with several strands framing her dark face. She'd pushed the sleeves of her chemise over her elbows and her cheeks were flushed from the exertion of carrying trays full of ale.

Their earlier conversation was still fresh in his mind.

"I wish you weren't leaving town, Lark," she said, winking one coppery eye.

"I have to," he replied though a knot formed in his stomach, "Now that I'm a man, there is nothing for me in this village. Being a soldier in the King's army is the only thing I've ever wanted, but for that I have to go to the capital."

"Well, I wish I'd seen you more this winter..."

'Yeah, me too,' he thought as she'd returned to her duties.

He and his master had planned to leave before sun-up, but the soldier spent too much time carousing the night before. Or so she claimed...

This left Lark sitting in the tavern, wishing he could catch Lysa's eye and at least say goodbye. Or more...

When he'd finally given up hope of her noticing him, she slid to a seat at his table.

"Uh, hi," he said, suddenly shy.

"Hi," she said, "You look great in your new clothes."

Well, if that didn't make him uncomfortable. His pale skin betrayed him, turning a hot red. Fortunately, the low light of the tavern cast deep shadows on his cheeks so maybe it wouldn't be so obvious.

"I thought you were leaving today," she said.

"No, uh m'lady," he said, using the title for his mentor Lysa seemed to prefer, "Needed sleep before we leave. And, I—uh—should stay here. You know...'cause of the commotion in the plaza last night."

Lysa chuckled. "Those bullies had it coming. Even if m'lady hadn't paid for my silence, I wouldn't say anything. By the Fates, I thought it was so brave!"

"Wait? Really?" He asked, scrubbing his fingernails into the tabletop.

"Oh yes. It's not every day someone stands up to Talim and his crew. They think they run this town. It's good someone take them down a peg."

"I'm pretty sure the banker and the butcher won't think the same, though," Lark groaned. "If I weren't getting out of here, I don't know if I'd ever be able to show my face on the streets again."

Lysa smiled. "I wish I could get out of this town." Her eyes turned dreamy. "But there aren't many prospects for a girl like me."

Lark shrugged, "You could, uh, always buy passage on a merchant caravan and find..."

She chuckled, "Some other tavern to work in?" She shook her head. "Not worth it. And where would I get the money for passage anyway? Umani barely pays me."

Lark didn't know. It had been sheer luck he'd met the soldier, and even better luck that she'd taken a shine to him.

"But it's not so bad here," she said, "At least from time to time, I get to meet interesting people. So, are you just waiting for her to get up?"

He nodded.

"Well, Umani gave me a lunch break, but I'm not particularly hungry. We could walk around the inn's courtyard instead."

"Um, yeah. I have a horse in the stables. Do you want to see it?"

Lysa gave him a secret smirk and nodded, following him out.

As they entered the hazy light of the stable, his soldier's horse, Arik, snorted a greeting, black eyes scrutinizing them. In the stall next to him stood a bay gelding, not quite as large, but still rippling with well-defined muscle. The other horse looked at them more cautiously, whinnying and shaking its chestnut mane.

"That's yours?" Lysa asked, eyes wide in awe.

"Yeah," Lark pat the soft nose carefully. "His name's Erythaea." When the horse nuzzled him back, he grabbed a handful of oats. Arik huffed jealously. "Oh you want some too, you big brute?" Lark chuckled, digging both hands in the bag.

The horses ate the oats delicately, snorting again in appreciation.

Lysa giggled, though she hadn't moved from the doorway. "You're good at that. Much better than I am. Horses scare me."

Arik huffed again, practically rolling his eyes. Lark couldn't see anything scary about the big goofball or the mild-mannered gelding, but he returned to Lysa anyway.

"They're not so bad. I'll show you." Brazenly taking her hand, he pulled her close to Arik. Shooting the horse a meaningful look, he muttered, "Be nice," under his breath. Arik nickered softly as if laughing, but didn't shy away.

Guiding her hand to Arik's nose, Lark stood close behind Lysa. It was then he noticed her scent—lightly floral, sweaty, and musky. He slowly inhaled taking all of her in. How could someone smell so good in such a hot, dry, dusty town? He watched as she grew brave by scratching Arik's nose, then went for the patch of fur on his forehead. Soon, she was running her fingers through his forelock and giggling.

Arik looked bored, but not hostile, so Lark allowed himself to laugh too. Lysa turned to face him, those copper eyes bright and deep. He drew in a sharp intake of breath as their faces moved to only inches apart. He'd never kissed anyone before, but the thought of Lysa being his first made his skin crawl with goosebumps.

The hot air seemed to shimmer and grow thick, distorting Lysa's features to those of someone else. At first, he thought it was his mentor, but upon further contemplation realized he didn't recognize the face at all.

Suddenly he felt larger. Older. Wiser than his eighteen years. The memories that were not his flooded his brain and along with them, feelings of pleasure. Of ecstasy. The next thing he knew, he was kissing Lysa—or was she kissing him?—as her fingers entwined in his hair. Overcome with a hot desire that also didn't feel entirely his, Lark pulled her away from the horses and pushed her into a corner at the far end of the stable.

Her fingers crawled down his neck, pushing the kaftan off his shoulders. He was equally adventurous, moving his hands to her backside and squeezing it. She moaned into his mouth as he broke the seal of their lips to take one short gasp of air. Then she pressed up against him again, her body soft and firm at the same time.

An intense heat washed over Lark from his face to his navel and suddenly he couldn't breathe. She'd worked the buckle free of his belt, sending it and its contents clattering to the floor. He tugged off his undertunic, sighing as the hot breeze hit his damp skin. Her sleeveless coat was next, though Lark didn't recall undoing its three toggles.

Lysa's lips had worked their way free from his mouth, and now she trailed them down his jaw and over his throat. He panted. The already tight riding pants grew even tighter. Running his hands up Lysa's back and over her shoulders, he pushed the wide neck of her chemise open, revealing skin the color of expensive amber—rich, dark and smooth.

Sweat dripping down his brow, he caressed the crest of her shoulder. His hand ventured further, fingers sneaking under the neckline of her chemise. Meanwhile, her delicate fingers tickled over the taut muscles of his bares back, occasionally grazing one of his aching, bruised ribs. He sucked in air as she pulled him closer. He took his lips to the crook of her neck, then down.

She shrugged the chemise from her shoulders, and it fell to her waist. Her breasts were a lighter brown than her shoulders, but still beautifully dark and unmarred by blemishes. Grasping one gently, it filled his hand. He squeezed as Lysa moaned, pressing into him harder. He kissed it, taking her nipple into his mouth.

Lysa's hands made it to his waist and were undoing the tie on his pants. He felt his member jump as her hand grazed over it. He looked into her eyes again, though he couldn't really see straight. Her face seemed to double, and merge into one, only then to blur again. Was this really happening? The throbbing in his pants seemed to think so.

His chest heaved, shaky inhales causing his sore ribs to protest. But he refused to let that slow him. He wanted this. Lysa seemed to, also.

She'd finally managed to undo his pants and let them fall into the hay. Her soft hand gripped him, and he had to bite his tongue to hold down an outcry. Even still, a low groan broke through his teeth. He was fumbling with the hem of her chemise, pulling it up urgently. Finding the drawstring of her undergarments, he practically yanked them free.

She laughed, long breathy laughs, stepping out of the rest of her clothes delicately as she gripped his bare backside and pressed him against her. Her skin was so soft, he thought as he caressed her. He felt pressure building in him, and yearned to take her, but something held him back. As he stood there, completely naked, he whispered, in her ear:

"Have you ever...?"

"No," she breathed back, "But I want to. I promise."

"You do?"

She nodded with enthusiasm. "Since yesterday morning."

Lark gasped, almost choking, as she squeezed him suggestively.

"Me too," he croaked finally.

Lysa opened her legs, allowing him to slip a hand in between. Feeling the damp heat of her sent shockwaves through his skin. He throbbed with desire. His head floated as his desire built. Gently, she pushed him toward the hay and straddled him. Her warm, damp area brushed across him.

His hips convulsed involuntarily as he longed to be inside of her.

She moaned and bent over to pull his lips into hers once more. Then she sat up and ground against him.

Filled with hot desire, he ignored the disparaging voice in his head telling him he was worthless. Right now, he was not an awkward young man with no trade, whose family had cast him out. He was...someone confident. A fighter. A future royal soldier.

A person who knew what he was doing.

Slowly he pushed himself into Lysa's warm box. She squeezed him with her legs, rocking her hips back and forth as he slid into her.

"You okay?" He asked, giving in a little to the voice.

She was smiling, dreamily, as she nodded. "Keep going," she panted, rocking her hips back and forth.

He complied, thrusting his hips upward with more force as he neared climax.

When he felt he couldn't take it anymore, Lysa clenched him tightly and moaned, long and loud. His own pressure increased, and he finally lost control, letting everything go. Biting down on his lip, he emitted a strangled groan as he spasmed several times, then collapsed back into the hay, breathing heavily.

Lysa smiled at him as his eyes lost focus. "That was one hell of a goodbye," she said, kissing him one last time on his sweaty forehead. Then exhaustion overwhelmed him and he sank into blackness.

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