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1.
His passengers leave at dawn of the first day the shore fills the horizon. Khadgar sees them off without comment. He’s long accepted he has no real control over the situation, bound as he was to the ship. Bound and, when he finds himself suddenly staring into Larial’s sunburst eyes, unwilling to use his weapons to kill such a proud creature. She blinks once, slow and pronounced, then turns away, eyes on the shore, ridges standing on point and ears perked.
Lothar punches the back of Khadgar’s shoulder in passing, hard enough to push Khadgar off balance. “That means she trusts you. Also goodbye, and that you’re dear enough to her she will miss you.”
“You get all of that from one blink?” Khadgar asks, rubbing his shoulder where Lothar hit it. The man hasn’t stepped out of his space, they’re still shoulder to shoulder, close enough the swaying of the ship just barely tilted one against the other. His eyes turn from Larial to meet Khadgar’s, warm with a smile his mouth barely forms.
“Dragons don’t believe in wasting time.” Lothar’s eyes drop down and flick back up, and he steps around so they’re practically chest to chest. He takes Khadgar’s hand in both his own, pressing something smooth and warm into his palm.
They’re close enough he can feel Lothar’s warmth. His breath, in and out. “What is this?”
Lothar’s hand closes over Khadgar’s, so his fingers wrap around the object, then brings Khadgar’s closed fist up to his mouth to press a kiss to his knuckles. “A promise. I’ll come back.”
Khadgar watches him as he walks away, as he climbs up Larial’s side to her back, and dragon and rider take off. He watches until her form, low against the water, is swallowed by distance. Then he looks at the object in his palm, and smiles. It’s a dragon scale, one of the long ovals from the frill around Larial’s jaw and the back of her skull, etched with the image of a mermaid’s tail. It’s attached to a length of twine, so Khadgar can slip it around his neck.
He believes Lothar. They will be back. In the meantime he anchors down, just offshore, and nestles himself in the curve of the hull, using his thick book of sea lore propped on his lap to keep him warm.
2.
They are gone until twilight. Just as Khadgar lit the lamps to read by, he hears Larial’s wings glide through the air above, and braces for landing. They smell of grass and mud, though neither have any on caked on them. Lothar has a full game bag, and another surprise. The first thing he does after sliding off Larial’s back and removing his mask is to stride up to Khadgar and kiss him long and hard.
Even dizzy with lust, though, Khadgar can taste the sweet and tart staining Lothar’s lips, and when both finally let the kiss dissipate, Khadgar lights up and utilizes their proximity to search for another bag. “You found strawberries?”
Lothar chuckles, pinching Khagar’s rump and stepping out of reach when the boy yelps. He heads for Larial, and the game bag still fastened to her back. “For dessert. Now come, help me dress this meat. I’d wager you’ve been years without fresh pheasant.”
“You’ve had dessert,” Khadgar points out, but follows anyway, the muscle Lothar pinched twinging with each step. He hadn’t meant to sound petulant, but the whine was present all the same.
Lothar looks at him over his shoulder, intentionally letting his eyes wander down Khadgar’s body. “And I’ll have it again.” Khadgar’s shiver has nothing to do with chilly sea breeze, he can feel the heat rising from deep in his belly and up his neck. Lothar flashes a wolfish grin when he spots the flush, then sets back to sliding the game bag down Larial’s back. “Fire up the ovens for me, will you? Birds taste best fresh.”
Lothar turns out to be a prolific forager, having returned not only with meat (and promised strawberries), but with a pound of wild onions, handfuls of thyme, rosemary, and mint, and thick tubers Khadgar doesn’t recognize but Lothar assures taste like sweet potatoes when roast in birdfat.
In hours, the smell of such a feast had Khadgar’s mouth watering, and drove him to distraction beyond even the focus of a good book. His mind would clear of the words and the images they conjure, his eyes unfocused and gazing. More than once, his daze is pierced by blue eyes, but what thoughts Lothar may have regarding the other he keeps to himself.
“I think it’s done, now.” Lothar says eventually, and moves so slowly to join Khadgar at the stove that Khadgar almost tips the boat in frustration to make him hurry. He likely would have, too, if it wouldn’t have also tipped the roasting pan into the fire.
In minutes, he has long, glistening slices of bird flesh on a plate, along with sliced onion and tubers mashed and mixed with the fat. It’s so good, by the end of the meal Khadgar could go back for more if he didn’t fear vomiting it all back up.
Over the course of the meal, he’d been aware of Lothar’s gaze. How it lingered more and longer as they ate.
“Satisfied?” He asks, as Khadgar sets his empty plate aside.
“It was very good. Thank you.” Khadgar says, meeting Lothar’s eyes. The torchlight has them flickering, but he holds. “But I was promised strawberries.”
Lothar smiles in a way that shows teeth. “Soon. Let your stomach rest, first.”
3.
Lothar was right to wait, Khadgar’s eyes droop and his head bobs several times as they strip the rest of the meat and drain the fat into containers for storage, then clean the pots and quench the fire in the stove. For an hour yet, as the sea winds tickle with hints of winter, and the stars break out overhead, Khadgar lazes against Lothar’s side, feeling heavy and sated as he hasn’t since the last time he ate at the king’s table.
Khadgar’s still sleepy, leaning on the railing of the maindeck, staring out at the dark shape of the shore, when he hears footsteps approach. Lothar presses up against his back, arms coming around either side, his breath hot on Khadgar’s ear.
“Hello,” Khadgar says, tilting his head to the side when he feels Lothar’s beard tickle his shoulder, and is rewarded with prickled kisses along his neck.
“Does this ship of yours have a bed?” Lothar asks.
“Captain’s quarters.”
“I’d like to feed you strawberries in bed.”
“Are you bribing me, dragon rider?”
“Perhaps.”
Walking across the maindeck is awkward, Lothar doesn’t seem to want to keep his hands off Khadgar, but to be so close means stepping on one another as they move. Khadgar has to stop at the door, searching for the key he wears tucked somewhere in the folds of his clothes, then gives up entirely whenever Lothar’s wandering hands distracted him and using his connection to the ship to force the lock and blow the door open.
Once inside, Lothar reveals a forager’s bag, opening it to reveal dozens of bright red fruits, a little on the small side but still a good size for wild strawberries. Khadgar reaches for one, but Lothar stops his hand. “Ah. Allow me.”
Lothar traces the strawberry over Khadgar’s lower lip, the scent of it filling his nose. The tip of the berry comes to rest in center of his lips; Lothar presses it down, watching intently as the red flesh of the berry sinks into Khadgar’s mouth. The moment Khadgar swallows, Lothar darts down and covers the boy’s mouth with his own.
“I want you.” He says, heated and breathless when they break apart, littering tinier but no less impassioned kisses as he does.
Khadgar, equally breathless and after some hesitation, says, “Okay.”
“Have you ever done this before?”
“Been fucked?” Khadgar asks, “Yes.”
Lothar takes a moment to breathe, and look Khadgar’s expression over. “Get undressed and lay on the bed, I’ll be back.”
Puzzled, but intrigued, Khadgar does as he is told. Lothar leaves the room, in a hurry but with a hitch in his step like his pants are too tight, giving Khadgar a slight glow of pride. The room without Lothar is cool and bare, the bed itself only covered in a few linens, the rest of the covers and quilts having been taken when Llane boarded another ship. Unsure of what to do, now completely naked and a little chilly, he waits for his lover to return.
“What is that?” Khadgar asks, when Lothar renters the room with flat tin. He sets it on the bedside table, stripping off his shirt so that Khadgar can see his bare chest flex and abs stretch taut. He gestures for Khadgar to lay down, so Khadgar does, rolling over to lay on his stomach, folding his arms so he could press his forehead into them (or have somewhere to bite).
“Balm.” Lothar says, climbing onto the bed, nudging Khadgar’s legs apart. “Riding is hard on the skin. But it will not make you sick this way, either.”
“This way?” He asks, but can say no more when the air is punched from his lungs by the cool, slick feel of a single rough finger entering him. “Oh.” He breathes in, eyes closed. The initial discomfort he expected, but the balm takes away the bite he associated with this act, and the faint pleasure he knew before seeped in sooner. “ Oh. ”
“I thought you said you’ve done this before?” Lothar says, withdrawing his finger briefly, only to return with more balm, the pad of his second finger teasing the rim.
“Not- mmm ,” the second finger breaches, “like this- oh light .”
Lothar kisses his back, his facial hair tickling down Khadgar’s back. “You were sorely mistreated, then.”
The pain of dry penetration never appears, and the discomfort of being stretched diminishes when he relaxes, though the cold balm takes from his pleasure. A warmth builds in Khadgar’s lower gut, his cock heavy and overstimulated by his skin and the scratchy linen. He begins to want more, to feel more, and so when Lothar’s third finger teases his rim, he bites a moan and pushes back on to it, lifting his hips. Between that and his swollen cock dragging over cloth, he gasps.
Lothar freezes in place for gods know whatever reason, and Khadgar moans more in frustration than in pleasure, and rocks his hips, trying to find a rhythm that made the thrumming warmth return. Lothar’s unoccupied hand interrupts his movements, the palm hot and solid on his hip.
“Rude little brat,” Lothar says with some relish, “trying to get started without me.”
His fingers withdraw, leaving Khadgar’s hole to flutter at the loss. He hears the wet sound of slick being applied to skin. Two hands clamp onto either side of Khadgar’s hips, dragging his ass up until he’s propped on his knees, one hand disappears, and he feels the head of Lothar’s cock, twice as thick as the fingers had been, glide between his cheeks find his stretched hole. Khadgar breathes in, but can’t seem to breath out.
“Still eager?” Lothar asks.
Khadgar breathes out through his nose, pressing his forehead (now damp with sweat with no explanation), and pushes back. The sensation is indescribable. With the slick, without pain to drive his mind from pleasure, it’s- still uncomfortable.
“You’re doing good,” Lothar says, thumbs rubbing circles in the dip of his back. “You’ve almost taken all of me.”
“How much more?” Khadgar asks with a groan, lifting his head to look back.
“Do you want to feel it?” Lothar asks, “Or are you going to feel it out on your own.”
Khadgar pushes back on experiment, but stops. He imagines Lothar pushing into him, independent of his wishes and sensations, and his spine trembles. “I can take it.”
He could take a lot of things, this initial discomfort was nothing.
Lothar’s slow at first, pushing in with great care until Khadgar felt hipbones dig into his ass. Lothar’s considerate, as well, listening for his breathing before moving again. He builds tempo, swinging Khadgar between filled and refilled, Lothar’s own pleasure coming across in grunts and eagerly whispered snippets of praise.
But while Khadgar feels the warmth again, it never grows. It remains a constant thrum, a pleasant heady buzz at best. Lothar somehow seems to know this, and slows his pace to readjust several times.
Then, Lothar lets out a long note of frustration, stopping all together and pulling out flipping Khadgar onto his back and lurching forward for a kiss that ends in nipped lips, before dragging him up so Lothar’s knees dug into his back, his own knees curling over Lothar’s shoulders.
Lothar’s cock breaches him once more, with ease and pleasantly like Khadgar’s body was relieved to be filled again. This time is different. When Lothar thrusts, a spike of pleasure curves Khadgar’s spine.
“Lo thar .” He’s gasping in syllables, moans drawn beyond breath until the sensation breaks and he can refill his lungs.
His knees slip from Lothar’s shoulder, and the man himself tips forward, landing on his elbows. Khadgar opens his eyes a slit, and Lothar’s face fills his vision, dim, barely visible. Swallowing, he taps into the ship, relighting the torch, and at once thing he sees sweat-drenched hair and eyes with irises blown so wide he can barely make out the blue. “Don’t stop. Please.”
Lothar’s lips turn up, though he continues to pant before he finds his breath. “Just for a moment.”
“Old age getting to you, rider?”
Lothar laughs, sort of. Like deep breaths, but punctuated with the scrape of a laugh. “I’ve been riding all day, boy.” But he licks his lips, shifting around so he can take Khadgar’s hands in his own, fingers entwined. “Now I need you to do some work for me.” One he lifts to his mouth and kisses, the other he pushes above Khadgar head and pins there. The hand he kissed he leads down Khadgar’s belly and wraps around his cock.”I need you stroke yourself.”
Lothar’s hips jerk, pushing into Khadgar and moving his cock between their entwined hands. Khadgar doesn’t have enough thought to reply, melting into the feel, his head pressed back, chin tilted up, lips parted around a cadence of vowels as Lothar starts again. Just as the build up gets to be too much, he finds words again. Well, one word. “Lothar. Lothar. Lothar. ” Repeated until the letters crash together, and fall apart in rhythm to his stuttering hips,his own come thick and wet on his abs and between their fingers. Lothar’s come inside him feels different, a strange weight he’s never known before.
For a moment they catch their breath, unwinding from one another. Lothar pulls out, planting light kisses in apology when Khadgar cries out. Then, he collapses on Khadgar’s side, brusquely pulling the boy against him. After a few moments of squirming, Khadgar realizes he’s being held, and settles.
Several long, languid kisses later, he opens his eyes. “What happened to the torch?”
Lothar laughs. “You kept lighting it, then blowing it out in ecstasy. You don’t remember?”
“I was a little distracted.” Khadgar says, wry, stealing another kiss. Then after some time in silence, says simply, “Again?”
Lothar turns to face him, and when he sees Khadgar is serious, kisses the boy’s cheek and pulls him closer. “When you can feel your ass again, then tell me you’re up for another round.”
“Okay,” Khadgar says, nestling closer. Without knowing how or when, he falls asleep to Lothar’s heartbeat.
4.
He’s sticky and smelly, and, unlike a certain rider, can’t just dive naked into the ocean for quick relief. Not that he would want to, as Lothar proves later when he barges into the galley where Khadgar sat scrubbing in a tub of hot water, the sea’s salt was almost worse.
“I need a bath.” Lothar announces unnecessarily, still stark naked but now marbled with bits of seaweed and and a dusting of grit where the water’s dried. He looms over Khadgar’s tub, arms crossed expectantly.
“Yes.” Khadgar says. After a moment of staring, “You’re welcome to draw your own.”
Lothar huffs. “Now why would I do that when you've got all this room to yourself?”
“Hey, don't you dare-” But it's too late, he's uncrossed his arms and stepped in, forcing Khadgar to scoot back and sloshing water over the edge. Somehow Khadgar manages to glare through lenses of blue power. The cloudy water clears, refills, and starts steaming.
Lothar sinks into the water, head dropping to the rim, long sigh of relief. Khadgar would join him, but he has someone's stupidly attractive long legs digging into his thighs. He continues glaring until a single blue eye peeks at him. “How’s your ass?”
“Well, I’m not actually sitting, if that tells you anything.” Khadgar replies, sloshing water again as he shifts so he’s sideways in the tub, both legs on one side, so they sit more comfortably in halves.
“Still want to go another round?” Lothar sits up, and starts working on cleaning himself in earnest.
Khadgar offers him soap and a cloth. “Yes.” His answer is simple and immediate, and if not surprising was amusing enough for Lothar to flash him a smile. “But perhaps not immediately.”
He watches as Lothar sinks down into the water, soaking his hair and beard thoroughly. The clean water pours down from them when he rises back up. “That’s fine.” He wipes the streams from his eyes, blue eyes blinking in and out of view. “I’ll just find other ways to get a taste of you.”
Khadgar’s eyes flicker down, gather’s a quick image of Lothar’s chest, and how the definition of his pectoral muscles reflected between the ripples in the water, then back up. “I suppose you will. Here.” He reaches out, offering.
Lothar offers him the first full smile, unreserved. He turns around and eases back, offering all of his back to Khadgar’s discretion. “Well, it’s about time. You know, it’s your fault I’m this sore.”
“Is it?” Khadgar asks, playing along with stipulation, as he begins to work the salt free of Lothar’s hair. “Don’t talk to me about sore, old man.”
And they continue like this, back and forth, until both are clean and ready to face the day.