Playing With Fire (13 page)

Wintras shuddered. “I hate them. They’re disgusting.” How awful, to be forced to endure the nasty little firefaeries over and over again. He wasn’t sure the power and magic was worth it.

Furn nodded, petting Zujan gently. “Poor thing. So alone.”

“Yes, I suppose he is.” Which he thought was Zujan’s own fault, really, the way he treated people. Except that didn’t fit with his recent discoveries. Damn it all to the ice, Wintras hated being pulled in so many different directions, it made his head ache.

Zujan whimpered softly, cuddling into him. He petted the fine, pale skin, feeling it slowly warm under his fingers.

“Oh. My Lord. I’ve missed you. You’ve been gone so long…” Furn’s voice was low, encouraging.

“Come on, Zujan. The poor boy has been bereft without you.”

Furn giggled, eyes dancing up at him.

He chuckled. “You haven’t been bereft, Furn?”

“I’ve missed him. I’ve worried. He’s been so cold.”

“Well, he’s warming up just fine now. You’re a good man, Furn.” He petted Furn as well as Zujan. He might have gone insane had it not been for Furn’s kindness and soft touch when he’d been prisoner here. Furn’s and the other boys’. Furn leaned over and kissed him, the act sweet and honest.

Making a happy noise, he kissed back, tongue sliding on Furn’s lips. His hands though, continued to pet Zujan, the stroking becoming less about warming Zujan and more about sex.

Zujan stretched, frowning, body sliding against his. He ended the kiss with Furn, guiding the boy’s mouth to Zujan’s. Furn kissed Zujan softly, fingers trailing in the soft, dark hair, petting. He watched, knowing how good those fingers felt, the sweet, soft touches. He added his own, hands occasionally straying to touch Furn as well.

Zujan’s eyes opened, so pale, so confused. “Furn?”

“Yes, my Lord.”

Wintras let the honorific go unchecked. Zujan might be his prisoner, but he was feeling less vindictive now, mind opening up to other possibilities.

“But the door…”

“It let me in, my Lord. Safely.”

Zujan’s eyes filled with tears, the lids closing, hiding them away.

“Whatever magic protects this place knows Furn would never hurt you.”

“She allowed you in. She has forgotten me.”

“Yeah? Well, she hasn’t let anyone else in. Or those sick little firefaeries.” He still wasn’t sure who
she
was.

“She hated them.”

Wintras continued to stroke Zujan’s skin. “I like her already.”

Furn smiled over. “You make his skin warm.”

“You helped, Furn.”

Furn shook his head. “No. I have touched him a hundred times. He does not warm for me. See?”

Furn reached down, hand sliding over Zujan’s hips, the skin a pale blue. Then his hand was drawn down, the skin icy, but warming, remaining pale, but flushed with life. Wintras frowned. “It makes no sense.”

“What about life makes sense?” Zujan’s voice was husky, low.

“Things should make sense,” Wintras insisted.

“Nothing makes sense. Nothing ever has.”

“I like things to make sense.” He didn’t want to let it go. He didn’t want to have to reexamine everything. Order was good. Knowing where you stood was good. Maybe that’s what he’d been objecting to the most with Zujan, never knowing where he stood.

Zujan chuckled. “That is why people need rules. So they can pretend things make sense.”

Wintras pouted. Was he truly just the naïve boy Zujan had thought him? Possibly.

Furn leaned over and kissed his pout, smiling and quiet. He let the sweet kisses soothe him, body forcing him to take notice of the fact he was lying naked with two lovely men. He rubbed against Zujan’s ass, going back to touching Furn and Zujan both. Zujan leaned toward Furn, the sweet man caressing and petting, humming low. He lay back, fingers going to his own body, stroking his cock as he watched them move together.

Furn slowly smoothed Zujan’s hair, the black-and-silver strands tangled and rough. “You need a bath, my Lord. A nice bath and a meal and loving.”

Wintras nodded. “All three of us could use that. The tub is big enough to share, if we sit close.”

Furn nodded to him. “His skin needs care—the cold was harsh to it.”

He grinned at Furn. “I bet you have all manner of creams for him.”

“Of course. His skin is finer than silk itself.”

Wintras stroked Zujan’s skin and then Furn’s. Zujan’s was indeed softer, almost fragile. Zujan made a soft sound, rippling.

He bent and kissed Zujan’s neck. “Come on. We’ll all feel better once we’re clean and pampered, fed.”

Furn helped Zujan up, wrinkling his nose as he touched the water. “My Lord? The water is cold.”

Zujan sighed, the air in the room suddenly frigid, the bathwater steaming.

Wintras frowned, noticing the shiver that went through Zujan. He touched the pale skin, finding it cool to the touch again. “We could have called for a few more buckets of hot, Furn.”

Furn blinked up, confused. “He always heats the water…”

“It hurts him, Furn.”

“Oh.” Furn shook his head, whispering. “Then why would he do it?”

Wintras considered that a moment. “Because you ask him to, and it’s his duty to provide for his people.” He turned to Zujan. “Right?”

Zujan nodded, drooping slightly, whether in exhaustion or relief, he wasn’t sure.

He picked Zujan up and climbed into the tub. “Join us, Furn. We’ll all wash each other and then cream each other up with those special silky making creams you talked about.”

He had to admit the water was just perfect, and he lay back, with Zujan floating in front of him. Furn stayed close, pouring fine oils into the water, smoothing it into their skin.

“Climb in, Furn,” he insisted. “You worked hard today, too.”

Furn stripped down, climbing in happily, snuggling into his side. He had an arm around each, feeling relaxed and pampered, fingers stroking soft silky skin. Furn petted his belly then slid closer, reaching for Zujan.

“Love him,” Wintras murmured, feeling for the little sorcerer. “He needs you.”

Furn’s mouth covered Zujan’s, the action practiced and eager, sweet, Zujan moaning, opening. His prick began to rise as he enjoyed the two of them together. They were indeed lovely, bodies knowing each other. Furn’s hands rubbed over Zujan, Zujan’s fingers trailing down Furn’s spine.

“Pretty,” Wintras murmured. How had he missed this when he’d been taken prisoner here? How had he not seen the beauty of their lovemaking?

Furn smiled up at him, eyes shining. “Thank you.”

Zujan’s tongue slid along Furn’s shoulder, making the boy shudder. And Zujan didn’t just take in this, but gave as well. Wintras remembered suddenly the sorcerer’s tongue pushing into his body, making him fly. He groaned, hand sliding down to wrap around his cock, eyes on Zujan. They pushed together, sliding and rocking, legs tangled together. He worked his cock, enjoying their pleasure. The water began to slide from one side of the tub to the other.

Furn shifted them so that Zujan was against his thighs. “The wood will bruise him.”

He laughed softly, reaching around to stroke both their cocks. “You take such good care of him Furn.”

“Someone needs to; he takes terrible care of himself.”

Furn ducked his head as Zujan glared, waggling one finger. “Don’t make me pinch you.”

“Hey, he’s being nice to you, no pinching!”

Zujan and Furn both chuckled, the sounds remarkably similar. He suspected they were laughing at him, but didn’t want to press it. They were all feeling good, his prick was hard, he just wanted to float through the rest of the evening.

“Don’t stop,” he spoke quietly.

Furn purred, and those hands dropped, circling Zujan’s shaft, his own. “So warm together.”

It was warm. And good, and very sexy. He stroked himself slowly, enjoying the way he felt, watching them. They moved together, pushing and rubbing, low moans filling the air, Zujan’s passion lovely, Furn’s cries sharp and sweet. Suddenly Wintras wanted to take Zujan, to lay his claim to the sweet, pale body; Zujan could take his pleasure in others, but ultimately he belonged to Wintras. It made him whimper, it confused him and yet felt so right at the same time.

Zujan’s buttocks slid against his thighs, soft and silken as the sorcerer shifted. Wintras slid his hand from around his own cock to Zujan’s crease, the oil in the water making the glide of skin on skin slick. He gently pushed at Zujan’s hole with his index finger.

Oh. Oh, so tight, unbelievably tight. Zujan gasped, shifted. Surely the man wasn’t a virgin in this. Perhaps though, he was. Wintras gentled his finger further, but did not stop, slowly teasing his way inside Zujan. Those icy eyes met his, wide, wanton. He moaned, finger sliding all the way in, held tight and hot within Zujan’s body.

“Hot…” It was true. Zujan blazed inside, so good.

“Yes.” He moved his finger in and out, letting Zujan get used to the sensation before he slipped a second finger in to begin stretching.

“Oh…” Zujan shifted, moving against him, almost pulling away, but not quite. Furn caught his eyes, look questioning.

Wintras stilled his fingers. “Is there a problem?”

“No.” Furn smiled at him. “I’ve never seen… Not with him. What should I do?”

“Tell Furn what you want, Zujan.”

“Come kiss me.” Zujan pulled Furn close, pulling away from his fingers. His hand followed Zujan though, fingers searching and finding that place inside that should feel so good.

“Oh!” The cry pressed into Furn’s lips, the fire in the hearth raging suddenly.

Wintras jerked, startled by the fire, and froze. “Zujan?”

“Sorry. Sorry, that… It was so big.” Those eyes flashed up at him, stunned. “I didn’t expect it.”

“Has no one ever done this for you?” he asked, the words echoing in his head.

“No.” Zujan pinked, sliding away from them both, away to the edge of the tub. “I’m done bathing.”

He frowned. “But we haven’t done pleasuring each other.” He sure hoped Zujan didn’t think he got to pick and choose in this. Because he didn’t. No more than Furn or Rall or he or any of them had the choice in the end when it had been Zujan who had ruled.

“I’m cold.” Zujan crawled from the tub, shivering and pale.

“Then we should warm you up.” He nodded at Furn to get out as well and grabbed a blanket, wrapping it around Zujan, lifting the slender body up and carrying the sorcerer to the bed.

Zujan curled into his arms, hair heavy and wet against his side. “You confuse me.”

Wintras laughed. “I confuse you? That makes us even, I guess because I am more confused by you than I have ever been before.”

“That’s fair then.” Zujan winked—actually winked at him.

His smile was genuine, and he rubbed Zujan’s limbs through the blanket to get rid of the drops of water on the pale skin.

“Let’s eat. That way we can continue after and just stay in bed and go to sleep.”

Furn nodded. “There is bread and ale and roasted meat.”

“And something sweet to tempt us after?” He knew Mata had been cooking pies and cake.

“Berry tarts.” He heard Zujan’s stomach growl. Laughing again, he laid Zujan down on the bed, climbing in next to the sorcerer and pulling the covers up. “Bring the trays and join us, Furn.”

Zujan relaxed into the pillows, eyes closing, looking so small, so pale, so lovely and odd. The feelings he had for Zujan now were all mixed up with his anger and fear from his last stay here, but the tenderness and care refused to be pushed away.

Furn settled on the bed, balancing the tray. “If you fall asleep, my Lord, you’ll starve.”

“He won’t fall asleep, we have to play still.” Wintras sat against the pillows and drew Zujan against him, tickling to make sure Zujan wasn’t thinking of falling asleep.

Zujan wiggled, giggled softly. “Wintras!”

He chuckled. “Yes?”

“Stop it. That… Stop.”

He laughed, tickling a moment longer before stopping, letting Zujan catch his breath. Zujan’s giggle was sweet and light, made him feel good.

Furn looked over, shaking his head. “You make him seem…young.”

It was true. At the moment Zujan did seem young, younger even than himself, maybe even younger than Furn. “How old are you?” he asked, snagging a piece of roast from Furn’s tray.

“That’s complicated. I…I remember your father as a boy.”

“What?” He pulled away slightly, looking down upon Zujan’s face. Surely not, the sorcerer looked no older than Furn, certainly not older than his own one and twenty years. And yet….he could not remember a time when Zujan’s name had not been mentioned with much fear and loathing.

“This body was born not long ago, but the man Zujan has lived for generations…”

The firefaeries outside the barriers were buzzing, furious. That would help explain the conflicting feelings he held for Zujan, why he couldn’t reconcile the different facets of the sorcerer. “And you have all his memories?”

“Some. They have him. They…they are him.”

“Those firefaery things you mean?” He shuddered, unable to hide his dislike. It was no wonder he hated Zujan so, but was feeling tender toward the boy in his arms. “Do you have a name of your own then?”

The boy shook his head. “I don’t think so…”

“Would you like to be called something other than Zujan?” he asked, handing the sorcerer the bread.

“My mother called me Sartis once, but…” Zujan looked at the swirl of light outside the door and paled, fingers squeezing the bread. “My name is Zujan.”

“I like Sartis.” It didn’t have the connotations of Zujan, and it suited the pale boy here with them now. “Eat. Drink. Furn’s right—you don’t take care of yourself.”

Furn stood, took a blanket and tacked it up, hiding the hints of lights showing through the somewhat battered door and Zuj—Sartis relaxed, eyes returning to him, bread lifted to pale lips.

“They can’t get you in here, remember?” He slid his hand along Sartis’ side. “I won’t make you leave again.”

“I… Yes. Yes, I remember.” Sartis ate, taking the cup of ale from Furn and drinking deep.

Wintras ate his fill, watching Furn and Sartis eat, the way Furn found the choicest pieces of meat to feed to Sartis. By rights, those were his due, but Wintras was happy with what he had, content to watch Furn pamper Sartis. It wasn’t long before Sartis shook his head, “No more, Furn.”