The House of Flame Lilies Ch. 06

The man tilted his head. "Why? I'm quite content."

Sparrow remembered how he'd writhed in ecstasy as his comrade had been destroyed. He eyed a few smudges and grains of dried blood blemishing his woodland complexion. He grimaced. "Think of it as making yourself nicer for our..." He halted. "For the mistress."

The man's face illuminated. "Does that mean she's coming to see me? Is it my turn?"

Sparrow's stomach lurched. "No!" It came out in almost a screech. He cleared his throat. "I mean, perhaps. I don't know. Best to be prepared."

The man nodded vigorously. "You're right." His eyes flitted around the ale spill shadows on the walls, searching them for a flicker of fluid movement.

Sparrow hung back, recalling Cyrus' words. The man did seem a little reactive. He had the mesmerising blend of peace and fractiousness of a pool disturbed by raindrops. Sparrow held up the key and hovered, rocking onto the balls of his feet, pulse drumming. But the man cooperatively held out his cuffed wrists, sitting up like a dog waiting to have his lead removed. Sparrow stepped to his side and gently took each wrist into his hands in turn. The iron cuffs were heavy, they clunked and rang as Sparrow eased them away and laid them on the bed. The man rubbed his wrists and released a breath that sounded like it had been held for days.

Sparrow swallowed. "What's your name?"

He faltered and frowned quizzically to himself for a moment. Then he blinked, like something had finally occurred to him. "Sorin."

"Well, Sorin, come and bathe." Sparrow slipped from him and walked to the steaming, wooden bathtub. Sorin's mouth twitched. He heaved himself from the bed, a few joints clicking. He clearly hadn't stood in a while. The sheets shimmied off him and the glint of the silver cage around his soft cock caught Sparrow's eye. He pressed his lips together and looked away, tingling. Sorin hummed and flexed. He was shorter than Sparrow expected, stocky and round, his body moving like soil rolling around the blades of a plough. He had no qualms about his nakedness. As he spread his legs to climb into the bath, the cage drew Sparrow's eye again. His own cock felt suddenly clasped. He squeezed his thighs together.

Sorin groaned deeply as the silken water enveloped him, cloudy with soap and leaving mother-of-pearl trails over his freckled chest. He leaned heavily and let his head drop back. The gentle glow kissed his cheeks. His strong arms spread along the sides of the bath in an open embrace. Steam whispered along his shoulders.

Sparrow pulsed again and cursed himself. He'd only come here to give some relief, seek some understanding, but last night had left his body wanting. His body was always wanting. He shook out his hands and fished a cloth from the stool and handed it to Sorin. Sorin took it lazily, dipped it into the water, and began to rub it in circles around his chest and his neck. His eyes fell closed, breath rippled down his torso. The quiet kiss of the wet cloth padded into Sparrow's ears and calmed him. Sorin was only washing himself absent-mindedly, dropping into the sensation more than getting himself clean. Sparrow tutted and knelt at the side of the bath. He pushed his baggy sleeves up and plucked the cloth from Sorin's hand. Sorin opened his eyes and looked confused.

"Let me do it," Sparrow said timidly. "You need to get the blood off you."

Sorin didn't flinch at the mention of the dark stains peppering his skin. He smiled dreamily and closed his eyes again as Sparrow pressed the cloth to him and rubbed harder. He scrunched the fabric into the water and spread the lacing of tiny bubbles like frost over a field. He lathered over the patches of grim blood and scrubbed. They crumbled away and left rosy blushes from the pressure. Sparrow fought to concentrate on the blood, on the tiny, vanishing puncture marks from her bites all over his body. They were shallow, barely nips, they looked like the footprints of butterflies. Not like his wound. His wound was special. The stains blurred and trickled away into the hazy shadows painting the definition of fat and muscle on Sorin's broad, open body. Sparrow's gaze wandered into them, clinging to Sorin irresistibly. He was fascinating; a sepia map of conquered terrain, each bite mark a tiny flag on a won battlefield. Or was it? Had he even put up a fight? Willingness was all too natural here. Sparrow sighed and flattened his hand, rubbing in deep, slow circles, nestling his palm into furrows of fat and letting his touch sink in, the thin fabric the only barrier between their skin. Steam caught on his forearm. His brow misted. The heat rising from the water made him drowsy. His eyes blurred a little. His cock thrummed.

A light tickle made him flinch. He looked and saw that Sorin's hand had crept from the bathtub and landed on his shoulder, fingertips stirring the baggy shirt. Sorin caught his startled eye and smiled. It was a sweet, guileless smile. Sort of.

"You feel nice," he said.

Sparrow's ears prickled. He flexed his fingers on the top of Sorin's belly, soap frothing, pressing softness. "So do you."

"Did she send you?"

The hairline crack in his voice squeezed Sparrow's chest. He cleared his throat, focusing on the creamy bubbles. "No."

Sorin's sigh heaved under Sparrow's hand. His head rolled to face away, his curls drooping at his temples. His hand fell from Sparrow's shoulder. Sparrow sucked his lip and eased his hand away. He lathered the cloth and serpentined it down Sorin's limp arm, working the muscle hard again. He gently took his wrist and turned it to wipe down the inside of his forearm. He frowned. On the inside of his wrist, mottled by the flushed chafing from the manacles, was a tattoo of a symbol Sparrow had never seen before. The black outline of a triangle with a horizontal line running through it, beneath a black-lined circle with a spot in the centre.

Sparrow trailed his fingertips over it, sending a light shiver up Sorin's arm. "What's this?" He tilted his head. "It looks like the sun rising over the mountain."

Sorin raised an eyebrow and peered at his tattoo. He squinted at it briefly, digging for the memory. He flickered in realisation, then snorted dismissively. "Oh, I suppose it does. The circle is the sun, actually. And underneath it, that symbol means air, which in the ancient world was aligned with blood. A mark from an old job."

Sparrow cocked his head. "What job?"

"Guard."

"Against what?"

Sorin's smile became less guileless. "What are you afraid of?"

Sparrow looked down with a sardonic twist to his lips and circled his fingertip around the inked ring. "I don't think I should tell you that."

Sorin chuckled in his throat. "Well, whatever it is, that's what I used to guard against. It's the badge of Les Héritiers du Sang Mortel."

Sparrow thought of the angry, imposing woman firing pistols at the manor gate. "What's that?"

"The Heirs of Mortal Blood."

Sparrow frowned, fingers still skipping idly on the tender inside of Sorin's wrist.

Sorin shifted a little under the tickle, the clouded water lapping him and the citrus steam billowing. "It all seems laughable now. Thinking we had some great purpose. Seeing humanity as all inheriting some special state we had to protect."

Sparrow's pulse picked up. "Protect from what?"

"From the immortal. From the bloodless."

Her face flashed into his mind, pale as stone, eerily ancient. He clenched his stomach against fluttering and spoke carefully, fingertips still tracing over and over the tattoo. "And you don't think humanity is a special state anymore?"

Sorin perked up, a hot energy suddenly zinging through him. He leaned forward, water sloshing, and fixed Sparrow with his bellflower blue eyes. "Of course, I do. But not for protecting, for offering."

Sparrow tried to draw back, but Sorin gripped him with surprising harshness.

"You understand, don't you? You've offered yourself and felt the rewards."

Sparrow gulped and shook his head.

Sorin barked a laugh that jabbed Sparrow's spine. "Yes you have!" He lunged forward with his free hand and tugged down Sparrow's collar to reveal the cherry blossom wound. He grinned like a weasel. "You bear your own mark of allegiance. Your own chivalric badge."

Sparrow's stomach lurched. He shoved Sorin away, bitten fingernails scratching his wrist as Sorin slipped from him and splashed back into the bath. The blue eyes fizzed, then fogged. Sorin reclined back, abruptly apathetic again, and let out a contemptuous cough. "You're so lucky. How do you not see it? You're so lucky."

Sparrow's neck throbbed. He covered it with his hand and glowered.

Sorin smacked his lips. "Did she fuck you while she did it? Did she let you come?"

"Yes," Sparrow mumbled through closed lips.

Sorin sank like a sack of pebbles into the water, ripples kissing his collar as his long, rumbling groan thrummed out of him. "Oooh, that's everything. That's everything in the world."

Sparrow heated between his thighs, mind misting with the memory. "No, it isn't..."

Sorin grinned, cheeks plumping. "You don't sound like you believe that." He dragged a rough breath in, eyes rolling. "Oh, have you tasted her cunt? It's Heaven." He screwed his eyes shut and raked his fingers through his hair. The motion rolled down him. Sparrow could see from the lapping water that he was bucking his hips, his body so hungry it was chasing fulfillment. His gaze snapped to Sparrow. "Can I suck your cock?"

Sparrow jumped and rushed hot. "Why?"

"It might still taste a little of her."

Sparrow was hard in seconds. Frustration barbed him, but his arousal moved faster than his sense. The need emanated from Sorin, it polluted the steam with something mouth-watering. His stomach clenched against a pound of lust. It was as if the enchantment on Sorin was contagious. It was like breathing addictive smoke. He impulsively pulled his clothes off. "I'll do you one better."

He picked up the dainty, silver key from atop the towels. Sorin's pupils bloomed. The steam kissed Sparrow's body and drew him like long, stroking fingers to the water. He climbed nimbly into the bath and settled kneeling between Sorin's thick, open thighs. The warmth enclosed him. He slipped his hands under the surface and felt for the cock cage. His fingers glided on smooth metal and beating flesh beneath. Sorin's chest rose and fell. A click sent a pulse through the water. Sparrow brought the shining cage and key out and tossed them aside with a clink. He retrieved the cloth and lathered it again. He caught Sorin's eye and held it bravely, twisting the cloth to hide the tremble in his fingers. His hands vanished under the water again. He closed Sorin's rising cock in the soft fabric and began to wash him, to work him. He bit his lip. Sorin tensed and watched him like a buzzard, his mouth hanging open as his breathing became harried. Sparrow watched him too. Was this cursed want something he could be freed from? Was it just the impatience? Or was it more?

"I'm supposed to wait," Sorin said in a strained voice, his fists going white on the sides of the bath so his freckles stood out stark.

Sparrow enclosed his cock and rotated his hands, feeling it grow into his grasp. "And I'm supposed to get what I want here."

Sorin threw his head back and moaned.

Sparrow's own boldness made him shiver, but he coursed on. This man, this nightmare of possibility, he had to know him, intimately. He cupped his balls and squeezed and teased and pumped him with round rolls of his shoulder. The water lapped over them with his motion. "Are you thinking of me or her?"

Sorin's nails dragged along the wooden edges, scraping up splinters. He held himself like he was being impaled and panted gratingly. "I'm thinking of me. Christ... Satan... I'm blind with feeling." He grit his teeth and growled raggedly. He jerked sharply into Sparrow's fist and spasmed and gurgled, water spitting. "I've been caged for days... Shit... More... It's too much... More... No, yes, m-more..."

Sparrow's breath caught, lemon balm making him dizzy. He hastened. His agile hands slid in the foaming soap and water. Sorin's cock swelled rapidly until it was a rigid conducting rod. He filled Sparrow's grip, tremors going through him and travelling into Sparrow. Sparrow stared wide-eyed at him. He was breaking into a sweat. His body undulated wildly, casting fragrant waves over Sparrow. He scrabbled on the bathtub. His knees shook. He gabbled wordlessly, a pony chomping at the bit, a chattering monkey. It wasn't just pleasure. It was jagged.

"God..." Sparrow murmured, recoiling a little. "This is all you are now, isn't it? Just flesh. Just this cock. Just this longing."

Sorin's head wheeled to him as if on a broken hinge, an ugly curl to his lip. "And you're not?" He lunged with a hot splash and took hold of Sparrow's cock like the handle of an axe.

Alarm and desperate pleasure exploded in Sparrow's abdomen. He gasped and reared with his hair whipping. "N-no... No, I... Ooh!" Sorin was working him brutally, it assaulted the lingering tension in his body, hurling stones at his hesitation. He moaned with a touch of spite and sped with the cloth. "No... I'm special to her. I'm still myself."

Sorin bit his cheek, shocking him with blunt pain. He growled into his ear. "You're a doll. We're all dolls. We're all meat. And we're all still ourselves. Because we were always dolls waiting for a girl to play with us, meat waiting to be eaten. The mistress just strips away the noise. Underneath it, we're worthless, little, lost boys looking for someone to make us moan."

Sparrow cried out with a lash of pleasure.

A bang on the trap door. Cyrus' gruff voice barked through it. "Are you alright, Sparrow?"

Sorin looked to the noise then back at Sparrow with fiery expectation.

Sparrow caught his breath and met his eye. He gulped. His reply came reedy. "Yes!" His face flushed. He bound Sorin's cock in his long fingers. "Yes..." he hissed.

Sorin snapped his jaws. Sparrow scowled and threw himself into working Sorin under the water, letting the cloth fall. They bucked and writhed in each other's furious hands, the water dancing and churning around them. The steam whirled with their panting and stuttering moans. Sorin's hands were relentless and strong, a little clumsy, but it didn't matter. Sparrow was burning. He couldn't be touched deep enough. He couldn't be deep enough in the water. The fever frothed between them, steam and sweat and the slickness of their strokes and the slide of soap as their chests collided. Sorin bit him again. Sparrow spat in his mouth. The cock in his hands was straining his knuckles. There was no detail to the pleasure. It was brusque, animal. Dolls. Meat. They pumped each other with their arms hard as oak. Their bodies flung in the water. Droplets splattered their faces and hair and burst onto the floor. The water lapped Sparrow's nipples, he made a sound like a cat. Sorin's eager hands raced up and down, tight on his length, kneading the pulses through him until they were racing too. It was barely even pleasure any more, just heat, just the mindless, heartless need for release. Mindless, heartless release...

"Fuck!" Sorin threw his head back and roared. His cock beat hard and jetted powerfully into the water, shooting spasms through his musculature, contorting his pretty face into one of the gargoyles. He sped his hands wildly on Sparrow, the water bubbling from it. Sparrow swallowed a scream and his climax cannoned through him. He shook like a bag of divination runes and fell apart as if being cast.

Sorin collapsed to lean back, the residue of their pleasure adrift among the soap bubbles between them. Sparrow collapsed with him. Their mouths met. It wasn't a kiss, at first, just two wrung out creatures swallowing each other's breath. Then Sparrow began to feel warm. Sorin's clawing lust dimmed. His body was cosy, his chest slowly rising and falling against him. Sparrow's lips melted to his. He began kissing him without thinking. Sorin returned it as thoughtlessly. He scooped Sparrow into his strong arms and they sank into an indulgent, sloppy, slow kiss, thin moans escaping them as they dissolved like the soap and glistened in the candlelight.

They kissed for a long time. Sorin ran his hands over Sparrow's back, sometimes pulling him in deeper with a soft press on the nape of his neck. Sparrow massaged his chest and shoulders and belly, the fullness of his body warming him even more. The water fell still, making their bodies light, easily drifting into a closer and closer embrace.

Sorin eventually pulled back an inch, resting his brow to Sparrow's, his fingertips playing on the ridge of his spine. He spoke so quietly, it was almost lost in the pop of soap bubbles. "I disobeyed her."

Sparrow put his hands on either side of his neck and held him. He kissed his brow firmly. "My fault. She'll understand."

Sorin smiled, his eye twinkling as he peeked from under his brown curls. His nose was a little pink from rubbing against Sparrow's as they kissed. "I knew it."

"What?"

"You still trust her."

Sparrow frowned. It made Sorin smile wider, a child who'd found a copper penny. Sparrow huffed and spun awkwardly in the water to put his back to Sorin. He folded his arms and leaned against the dappled, wide torso, wriggling to get comfortable as his cushion bounced with mocking laughter. "It's alright," Sorin said warmly. "You're not wrong to."

"Hush."

Sorin snorted, kissed his hair, and dropped his head back with a low sigh. Sparrow felt him relax underneath him, nestling him onto cloud as the fragrant steam filled his senses. He gazed at the mead-spill of light on the pale, stone wall. Sorin fitted his hands to his waist and stroked him lightly, stirring the water around them.

"Can I ask you something?" Sparrow asked after a moment.

Sorin nipped his ear. "You said hush."

Sparrow splashed him.

He laughed. His fingers crept along Sparrow's thigh under the water. "Fine."

"Do you ever feel angry with her?"

The cloudy surface skipped as Sorin shifted to peer in surprise around Sparrow's shoulder. Sparrow glanced sideways, but avoided twisting his neck. Sorin frowned. "Whatever for?"

Sparrow curled a little tighter in the cradle of the large, soft body. "For what she's done to you. Or if not that, for what she did to your friend."

Teasing lips padded around the shell of Sparrow's ear, a warm gust of a chuckle over the reply. "You still don't see it, but you will. Daniel wasn't murdered. I have nothing to grieve for. Daniel ascended. So will I, if she finds me worthy." His drowsy voice was trickling tastily down Sparrow's spine. "So will you."

Sparrow flinched, jerking the sensation away. "Not me."

Lips fell to his shoulder, hands on his waist. "Don't you want to be worthy? Don't you like it when she makes you feel chosen?"

Sorin's lips slid easy as butter on Sparrow's smooth, wet skin. His flesh rippled with it, still humming from his climax. He tried to speak and his voice halted in a hiccup of pleasure. He cleared his throat, the twinge less than ever. "Of course I do. More than anything."

"Mmm. More than anything." He was thickening again, it nudged the small of Sparrow's back and his ass tensed.

"But don't you understand?" Sparrow whimpered. "She's made us want that. Doesn't it make you even a little angry that she made you want to... to be hurt?"

"The way you say the word want is better than song." Her voice in his mind again, he shook it off.

Sorin slipped a little lower so his hardening cock slotted into the cleft of Sparrow's ass. Sparrow's body pulsed. He dropped his head back onto Sorin's broad shoulder with a long sigh and subtly arched his spine to rub his cheeks on Sorin's cock. Sorin closed him in his arms, dense water enveloping the embrace. It was almost stiflingly warm. The heat wafted over Sparrow's body, perfumed steam in his mouth. He relaxed into it, leaning heavier on the pressing cock.