The campfire burned with the uncertainty of tomorrow but the self-satisfaction of today. The calm before the storm as the Akielons said, with stupid accent. The motherfucker soldier they had the pleasure to ride with, thought it was essential he shared his great Veretian knowledge with them, hidden behind idioms.
Orlant was homicidal by the time the sun ducked under the horizon, Rochert was swearing in three different dialects, Lazar was trying to decide in which position he wanted to mark the Akielon soldier he was fond of and Jord, he was honestly just trying to finish with his duties as fast as he could. If this or the next night was his last, he at least wanted to spend it with gazing at the mesmerizing stars and laughing with his friends. Small pleasures of his still not-so-miserable life.
"I want to gut every Akielon," murmured Orlant as he drop down next to him at the camp fire. He was sweaty, mud clinging to his body and with the expression he wore, he look like someone who just buried a body.
"The Prince might not be satisfied with that," said Rochert amused to extent, for days now, about what was clearly forming between the Princes. Orlant sent him one of his Orlant looks. It meant he now wanted to gut every Akielon and one of the Veretians too.
Jord smiled despite himself, exhaustion overwhelming him. He laid back, supporting himself on his elbows. He was no longer captain, so he could be a little lazy. He didn't need to look as he had to a few weeks ago. Collected. If they survived this madness, he would fight for the rank again, but now? He needed sleep.
"They aren't that bad," state Lazar, drinking from his flask eyes burning dark as he gazed at Pallas. Orlant growled to this.
"Have you fucked already?" asked Rochert truly intrigued. Lazar didn't even turn to him, he wanted to burn the Akielon with his intense gaze. It worked. The boy finishing with whatever he was still bothering with, turned and caught Lazar's eyes. Lazar lifted his flask at him while the boy smiled wide and shy, tugging his curls behind his ear.
"This is fucking ridiculous." Orlant seemed to be beyond understanding everyone's obsession with the other nation and its specimen. "Seriously?" He was outraged as Pallas approached them with two other soldiers of the Akielon kind.
"It's gonna be fun," giggled Rochert as he took the flask out of Lazar's grip. The act was scandalous enough for him to turn away from his loverboy but only for a moment. Rochert raised an eyebrow simultaneously with the arrival of Pallas, Aktis and Lydos, if Jord remembered correctly their names. They were all winners of some kind of the championship. Especially Pallas was memorable. For Lazar way too much. He would not shut about the Akielon's perfect ass, and the stuff he wished to do with it.
"Hi," started Pallas enthusiastically, one of the Veretian words he knew, sitting down next to Lazar. Aktis and Lydos were more careful, greeting them with grunts mostly. The Veretian soldiers did the same. It was not out of grudges they held or the lack of vocabulary. It was exhaustion.
They sat around the fire for a long time before anyone spoke again. They were all gazing at the blazing oranges of the campfire, most likely debating their chances, all in all, but Lazar was always known for being horny over everything else.
As a way of flirting he offered his flask to Pallas who took it with a murmured and heavily accented Veretian thanks. Rochert, who still thought this whole deal between Pallas and Lazar was the most entertaining thing that happened during their campaign was looking at them like it was a sports match.
It was. Pallas was holding Lazar's gaze as he drank, throat bared, lips wet. It was almost awkward for everyone else sitting so close to them. It was, surprisingly not Orlant, Aktis who sighed loudly. Pallas, giving back the flask, looked at his friends innocently.
The man said something to Pallas in Akielon which made the boy chuckle, judging by his movement he flushed, but they couldn't see it in the dark. It was better, the night was covering them with calmness and languid atmosphere.
"Do you want me to translate his favorite position to you," turned Aktis his almost paternal gaze to Lazar, who was probably the same age as him, "or you can figure it out yourself?" He was one of the soldiers who, thanks to their noble blood and money have had the privilege to learn languages.
Pallas without understanding his words got the meaning and with sudden shyness pushed the man with mostly pretended annoyance. Laughter bubbled up at the chest of Veretians, Lazar seemed interested.
"Which?" he asked, Akielon so awful even Orlant almost winced. Pallas at the light of the fire almost turned red, hiding his head in his palms and groaning. Aktis turned to Pallas purposefully not noticing his uncomfortable mood. His question seemed genuine and Pallas now truly turned traumatized.
"You can choose," gave Aktis a smile to Lazar, entertaining himself much. Pallas looked panicked as he try to guess what was said by the look on their faces.
Lydos's voice was firm between the laughter. Pallas sent him a judging look but Aktis translated without question. "What's your Prince's preferred one?"
Orlant scoffed. "Your Prince on his knees and hands. Probably begging," he said mean smile splitting his face. At the translation Lydos raised his eyebrows.
"The Prince does not get fucked," Aktis explained. Jord frowned.
"You did not see him as a slave. Not the crawling part, but the eager part," said Lazar ignoring how it could spark conflict. It didn't. They calmly waited for Aktis to tell it to his friends. Then Lydos seemed to demand Aktis to tell them something.
"He wants me to tell you the story." He rolled his eyes. "It is said, once, Damianos fucked one of his lover for six hours." Lydos in the background told Pallas the same, and it was not hard to comprehend his disbelieve and his Akielon Really?. Lazar whistled, this case as a sign of how impressed he was.
"Whole villages of women have said he does magic with his cock," Aktis explained further. The Akielons seemed to build up a whole religion around their crown prince's talent concerning fucking.
"You say it's almost a shame Laurent has it caged?" asked Orlant with smirk surprisingly growing. Lydos, after understanding it laughed, cheerfulness winning against other emotions. Lazar nodded, impressed once again and raised his flask.
"To their pent up frustration and hardheadedness that does not let them fuck it out, and has us suffer" he declared louder than it was advisable. It was drank to, with mutual agreement on all parties.