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Tests of Invention

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They had a space, the two of them. A world of tunnels and tasks that Randa the King knew nothing of, because he was the sort of father, and the sort of King, who never wanted to see what he looked at.

Raffin shifted in the bed. It was a raw thing, easily folded up and put away when he was working on potions that might explode, or when Bann had herbs to lay out and dry. It squeaked. Obscenely.

Bann, propped on an elbow, laughed softly at him, a smirk tugging his mouth.

“Stop it.”

“I don’t see why, Lord Prince.” Bann’s voice had dropped almost a third—the sort of pitch that had Raffin swallowing and feeling his skin go tight and hot, waiting for every quiet word. “You’re blushing.”

Raffin sniffed. “I think,” he said. “I have every reason to blush.”

“I’m just glad the new formula worked.”

Worked?” Raffin laughed, helpless, eyes shifting to the open container by their bed. “It was...”

“It’s got you speechless.” Bann let his hand slide down beneath already tangled, damp sheets and along Raffin’s spine. “Speechless, and blushing.” His eyes narrowed as Raffin leant into the touch. “That is evidence enough for—”

“—anecdotal evidence!”

“Ha. No. I can see it. This, Lord Prince, is empirical.” His fingers, already low, curled. Raffin gasped, feeling the heat of a blush across his face and back and chest. He arched back against familiar fingers, his body—recently stretched, taking deeply even as he felt his breath come short.     

    “No, Bann, it’s—it—uh—isn’t.” His cock was pressed into the mattress, he could feel the weight of Bann over his hips and back, the hand that wasn’t slowly teasing and working inside him braced by Raffin’s own.


    Raffin’s laugh was breathless, a little wild. “Well, you’re not using it now, are you?”

    A kiss pressed to his temple. “Ask me.”


    Fingers twitched.

    “—ah! Please.”

    The withdrawal was slow, aching, and sweet enough to leave Raffin gasping and sweat soaked on the ramshackle bed as Bann reached over and took up some of their latest invention.  He knew he whimpered as his friend smeared and teased it over and inside him, so Bann’s fingers could slip in stronger, and farther, stretching him until he could no longer hear what noises the bed might make—only his own harsh breathing and Bann’s laughter.

    “We’ll use it all up at this rate, you know.”

    “We can make more.”

    “A point,” Bann conceded, braced over him again, his free hand now warm about Raffin’s, belying all the teasing and the pleading that might go on between them. He dipped his head, lips brushing over Raffin’s skin, and all might as well have been right in the world.

    They had a space, the two of them.