"Come to the herons tonight."
Like the puff of a breeze, it wafts to his ears and then it's gone. Just like the touch of a wind, cold wind. It makes the short hairs on his nape stand up, and he barely suppresses a shudder.
A deep breath, a seemingly innocuous stop to make sure that the sash tied around his hips is sitting correctly. He can only hope that nobody notices how his hands are shaking.
The bushes are full of birds, swift little birds that dart in and out of the foliage. Their chirping rings in the air over the backdrop of rustling leaves and the distant shush of wind in the tall trees covering the mountainside.
It's hard to concentrate on the lessons on a day like this. Clouds are sailing across the sky, the cry of a falcon pierces through the air and for a moment all the birds fall quiet. Their consternation doesn't last long, though; soon they are back again, catching the flies and moths and bugs feasting on the waxy little flowers of the hedge. Nobody's had the heart to clip it, not when the blossoms abound like that, and the bushes have used the opportunity well. They've grown slightly out of shape, as if reaching in curiosity towards the group of boys gathered beside the paved, tiled square in the middle of the courtyard.
They are laughing, all but one of them. He's merely standing there, a solitary, scrawny figure, head hanging so that long hair hides his burning face. The others laugh again, a bright and malevolent sound.
"How many times are you going to trip and stumble today?"
"Look, his hems are all muddy! Where've you been crawling?"
"He's been hiding in the bushes to peep on En'Eliss!"
The boy's head droops still lower and his hand twitches, as if to reach down and rub the stain on the flowing robe that covers his skinny legs. So ungainly he is, with hands and feet that are in no proportion to the rest of him, the bones in his shoulders and hips and knees like protruding lumps. It's a body that doesn't want to obey him. The others are never going to let him forget his clumsiness, his too ready blush, all those times when he's lost his balance in training, and especially the time when they caught him hiding in the carefully tended bushes just outside the window of En'Eliss' room.
Oh how they laughed when they saw him there, red-faced, arms and legs full of scratches from the branches and prickly leaves, stammering something about an injured cat. Nobody believed him, of course. Why else would he have been there, if not to peep into the room, at En'Eliss?
En'Eliss laughed the hardest, eyes dancing with wicked mirth. He's the prodigy, the pet, the star in making. His body is lithe and supple, silky skin whispering over flat, adolescent muscle. Perfectly proportioned. Pleasing to the eye. Moving with impossible grace for someone so young. When he dances, he flows across the floor.
When they train, he's always up front where everyone else can see and try to imitate him. He's up front, the other boy right next to him. For him it isn't a place of honor, though, but shame. There he is always under the teacher's eyes, to be corrected over and again, to be watched so that no slip, no near-missing of a beat goes unnoticed.
Everyone else sees them, too, and snickers. That's all they dare do when the teacher is there, and as soon as the lesson ends, the boy slinks quickly away, hair like a veil. Nobody follows him, he's forgotten until the next lessons, and until then he won't be seen much. He'll show up in the dining hall and in the evening prayers. Maybe someone even catches a glimpse of him in the gardens. That's all.
En'Eliss pays little attention to the gangly, clumsy boy. Why should he care? His own path is cut clear: he'll learn more, grow stronger and comelier still, and become a temple dancer. He will please the gods and the people alike with the fluid beauty of his motions. He knows that he'll be someone to be made immortal by stories and pictures and statues, a dancer whom people will remember long after his joints have grown stiff and his posture stooped; not that he'd ever think of such distant, disconcerting things. He lives for praise and for the sheer pleasure of the dance. He's invincible.
Until that night of madness when he, consumed by intoxicating curiosity, gives in to the pull of a whim. Buoyed by blind self-confidence of someone who's never been caught and thus believes he's never really mis-stepped, he sneaks into the Temple at night to spy on the priests about to perform a ceremony that he's still too young and too unhallowed to see. That night, when he is hiding behind the statues and all of a sudden feels his elbow brush a little too hard against a delicate clay image. Yes, he has stumbled a bit, and time comes to a standstill for the endless moment when the horrible realization flashes through his brain. He knows it's falling, he knows he should catch it, he knows he won't make it.
With a reverberating crash the statue shatters on the polished mosaic floor.
It echoes in his ears, he stares at it with wide eyes, then feels a shove. He spins around and sees the frightened face of the skinny boy.
"Go!" The boy glances over his shoulder, pushes En'Eliss harder. "Run!"
En'Eliss dives into the shadows and runs on light feet, heart beating so loud that he can hardly hear the approaching steps.
He sleeps badly that night, but in the morning nobody seems to notice the dark circles around his eyes or his fidgeting fingers. The whole place is in uproar, all lessons and training canceled for the day, the teachers and priests looking grim as they talk to each other in hushed voices. There are whispers, rumors, guesses. Nobody knows what exactly is going on.
En'Eliss waits and waits, and yet no one comes for him. The day passes, and the next morning they are gathered again for the training. No explanations, nothing, but everyone knows there's someone missing.
The silent, skinny boy is not there. The teacher doesn't ask for him. Later the boys hear that his room is empty, too, as if he'd never been there in the first place.
Day upon day upon day, there's no reference to him. Did he ever exist at all? Soon he's forgotten, slipped out of memory, buried and vanished like a ghost. En'Eliss pushes the night away from his mind. It never happened; and after a while it's just a crazy nightmare, nothing more.
Years fly past. En'Eliss grows taller and stronger but his body still retains its elegant beauty, and everyone agrees that such a dancer hasn't been seen in living memory.
He dances in the Temple and makes people sigh and stare. Pictures of him appear on the votive tablets sold to visitors. Statuettes attempt to capture the grace of his form, frozen in the middle of a swirl. He's fulfilling the promise the priest saw in his childish figure on the day when his parents brought him here and pledged their son to the gods.
He enjoys his life, but some strange longing occasionally keeps him awake, staring out into the dark, pine-clad mountains until late at night. He remembers strolling underneath those dense, sharp-smelling trees as a child, but that's so long ago. Now his life is safer than he's ever been able to imagine back when he still lived with his family, but his thoughts reach out to the fragrant shade of trees. He tries to picture what the soft, mossy ground would feel like under feet that are so used to stone and mosaic and the fine sand of the paths crisscrossing through the Temple gardens. What would it be like to hug the trunk of a tree, to feel the coarse bark on his cheek and breathe the air scented by resin and wild flowers?
For some odd reason these thoughts are plaguing him with increasing frequency these days. He's restless, but too proud to let it show. So he trains every day, sets a good example to all those youngsters sweating under the all-seeing eyes of their teachers, works to keep his muscles tight and his body supple. He dances at the services, entices people, lets them see the sublime beauty of the divine dances. His mind is elsewhere, though, and his heart echoes with emptiness.
He's training as usual also on the day when a servant of the Temple comes to tell him that the High Steward wants to see him. En'Eliss nods, dries the fine film of sweat from his skin with a white linen towel, then follows the rotund young man.
The Chambers where the Steward is waiting are wonderfully cool, and En'Eliss feels small goosebumps on his skin as he enters. Bare feet hardly make a sound on tiled floor as he approaches, sees the Steward, then stops abruptly. The tall, imposing man is not alone, and for a moment En'Eliss thinks he's intruding. The Steward notices him, nods to indicate that he may enter.
There's another youth standing there, En'Eliss can only see his back, but an odd trepidation washes over him. The youth is somewhat taller than him but clothed in the same way. A dancer, then. An ankle-length skirt of a familiar pattern covers the long legs. En'Eliss' gaze stops for a moment to study breathlessly the way in which the cloth clings to round buttocks, then it hastily takes in the richly embroidered sash and tassel-belt wrapped around narrow hips. Above them the upper body flaring out to surprisingly broad shoulders. Honey-brown eyes study the dip of the spine above that sash, then dart to glance at the long, straight hair that reaches down low enough to almost cover the shoulder blades. The uneven hair is dark, of deep reddish brown, and En'Eliss feels his heart stop.
"En'Eliss," the Steward says, and the other youth turns slightly to look. Their eyes meet, brown with blue, and En'Eliss feels dizzy. As if a lightning had just passed through him.
"Perhaps you still remember Men'Daer?" The Steward's voice is neutral, he's not really asking a question. En'Eliss can only nod. "He has spent these past nearly four years in our sister temple in Lao Da Berit, but he has now distinguished himself in the Holy Dance so much that he's been deemed worthy of returning here and joining you and your companions. You will take him to the House."
En'Eliss bows. What else can he do? His lips are too numb to speak anyway, but he keeps his head high. Blood roars in his ears as he turns around and gestures for the newcomer to follow him.
He's all too keenly aware of the presence trailing behind as he retraces his steps out of the Chambers, across the garden and into the House of Dancers. Neither of them says a word. En'Eliss cannot think of anything to say, and Men'Daer -- why doesn't he speak?
En'Eliss tries to make sense of this all but fails miserably. It's not unheard of that dancers trained elsewhere occasionally end up here, in the most highly respected troupe, but this? All of a sudden that almost forgotten night is once more scarily clear in his mind and all those unanswered questions come surging back. What exactly happened then? If Men'Daer was caught at the scene of defilement, as seems likely, why didn't he reveal the actual culprit? Why hadn't he been banished from the Temples for good? Why has he been sent elsewhere -- to Lao Da Berit, or anywhere at all?
And when has he turned into such a tall, handsome creature? When has his ugly red hair transformed into that gleaming mane the color of polished mahogany? When has he raised his head high so that the confidence and silent strength emanating from him can be seen by all and sundry?
En'Eliss doesn't glance aside as he leads the silent newcomer to the House, and is much relieved to see the old Warden already waiting at the door. Of course the old man would've been informed of any new arrivals, so that he knows to be there to take them under his wing.
With a respectful bow En'Eliss departs and escapes to his own room, unable to miss the glance that follows him or the tiny smirk that accompanies it.
The other dancers are puzzled and wary but most of all curious. Tentatively they attempt to reconcile themselves with the once-shunned boy transformed into a mountain cat, and their advances meet with cool acceptance. Men'Daer doesn't push them away but nevertheless keeps them at an arm's length. He doesn't talk about the past, nor is anyone else eager to bring it up, and things settle into their new course.
Only En'Eliss keeps his distance as much as he can. When they're training, closer contact is inevitable, and he's hard put not to let his consternation show when the teachers fully become aware of the strength packed into Men'Daer's handsome body. His hands are large and sure, and when they grip En'Eliss by the waist to lift him, En'Eliss goes all hot and cold inside. He's afraid of Men'Daer, but there's no one else who'd be able to lift him with the same grace and confidence and so they're paired for the more acrobatic moves. Of course they must train together.
They've hardly exchanged more than a dozen words since Men'Daer has arrived, but En'Eliss knows that those eyes are following him. He can't help his nerves. He's waiting for something to happen, but days pass. Then some more days, and still a few.
He has almost given up by the day when, at the end of practice, those hands squeeze his narrow waist a little tighter before releasing him, and for a fleeting moment Men'Daer looks deep into his eyes.
"I want to talk."
En'Eliss swallows, sure that all color has drained from his face in an instant.
"Come to the herons tonight. After the night prayers."
The red-haired youth doesn't wait for an answer, simply turns and walks away. En'Eliss needs some time to get his legs moving once more.
The rest of the day passes in a haze. Mechanically he goes through the daily routine, eats, bathes, retires. There's no service that night where he'd have to perform, and he feels a quick flood of gratitude when the fact dawns on him. If there were a service, this just might be the day when the graceful, sure-footed En'Eliss stumbles. As it is, his silence is attributed to exhaustion and he's urged to make sure he rests enough, to retire in good time and sleep properly. He'd like to laugh at that but instead just nods and disappears soon after the dinner. He needs some time alone, anyway, before creeping to the Halls at nightfall.
The sun goes down and the moon, already looming pale in the sky, grows brighter against velvety blackness. En'Eliss is restless but knows there's nothing he can do. He must do it. He must go.
When the entire Temple is silent around him, he slinks from his bed and takes a deep breath. Swift feet take him soundlessly out, then towards the Temple halls, to the herons. White and graceful, they reach their delicate necks upwards, ghostly shapes in the large mural that decorates the rear wall of the hall where the shattered statue used to stand. Fear squeezes En'Eliss' throat.
Is this a trap of some kind? There's no one in the hall, and he stops to try and decide what to do. Should he wait? Should he go back?
Before he can make up his mind, a shadow flashes briefly at the doorway and his breath catches. Men'Daer approaches with gliding steps, comes closer, smiles.
"There you are."
Satisfaction in that voice. En'Eliss clenches his teeth together.
"What do you want of me?"
"I told you. To talk."
"What is there to talk about?"
En'Eliss hears how breathy his own voice is and it irritates him, because he knows the answer well enough and yet he has to fight back. Men'Daer smirks.
"I'm sure you still remember."
He walks slowly around the empty pillar-like pedestal, fingers ghosting along its surface. He glances at En'Eliss.
"Such a pity. It was a beautiful statue."
En'Eliss presses his lips together and looks at the mural. He doesn't reply.
"Don't you think you owe me something?"
Men'Daer speaks in a low voice, like he always did, but now the huskiness carries a menace that makes En'Eliss' blood run cold.
"I wasn't even near here when that one idol fell. I could've run away and left you to face the storm." A touch, light as feather, on En'Eliss' upper arm makes him start. Men'Daer laughs under his breath. "You were in such a shock that if I hadn't pushed you and told you to get out, you would've just stood here and been caught. I wonder... where would you be now if wasn't for me?"
"Why?" At last En'Eliss manages to force some sound from his throat. "Why did you do it? And why weren't you simply turned out of the Temple for good? How did you get to stay in Lao Da Berit instead?"
"They couldn't." Men'Daer's arms fold across his chest. "I'm orphaned, left outside the Temple gates as a baby. The Temple is responsible for me, whatever happens."
Of course... a Child of the Temple. The only possible explanation, and one that En'Eliss really should've realized himself. Hasn't he always known that Men'Daer has no family? And yet it still explains only part of the mystery.
He raises his chin and looks straight at his nemesis.
"Why did you do it?" he repeats. "Why did you take the blame?"
"What do you think?" Men'Daer counters, eyes flashing in challenge.
"I don't know," En'Eliss admits quietly.
Men'Daer snorts. "And that's what's been bothering you ever since. Aggravating, isn't it?"
"Tell me!" En'Eliss demands, hands balling into fists. "Why?"
"Wouldn't it have been such a shame if you'd been expelled? You, the pet, the darling, the golden boy?" Men'Daer muses, the corner of his mouth quirking. "Isn't it enough that I saved you then, and that you owe me something in return?"
En'Eliss manages to swallow when Men'Daer steps so close to him that their bare chests are nearly touching. He can feel the warmth emanating from the taller boy, then shivers when a hand rises to play with the leather string of the amulet around his neck.
"You owe me thanks," Men'Daer whispers. "Big thanks. Shall I tell you how you can best thank me?"
En'Eliss is breathing hard. "Yes," he manages through his teeth. "Tell me, and be done with it."
"Give yourself to me."
Men'Daer smirks again, gaze boring deep into incredulous brown eyes that grow round with shock. "What? Is that such a surprise? Do you think I'm that revolting?"
The fingers tighten, tug at the string. "I'm sure you're not a virgin, beautiful. I won't believe if you try to tell me that you haven't had anyone in your bed, and not just because you didn't want to sleep alone."
Of course he's right, En'Eliss has enjoyed the nightly pleasures with a few of his fellow dancers, but still the request takes his breath away. This is different. Men'Daer is demanding submission.
His mind recoils even as he can feel how his body is reacting inside the tightly tied loincloth under the skirt. It's just the closeness and tension, En'Eliss tells himself. The words evoke memories, that is all. Why would he give in? If he now heeds the sly whispers of his body and grants this now, if he takes this step, what will be the next one?
"Why?" he asks tightly.
"Because you're beautiful," Men'Daer says with a strange smile. "Because you're desirable and proud and I've wanted you for years."
"You're lying."
"Am I?" Men'Daer presses closer. "What do you think I was doing outside your window, back then when they spotted me there? A hurt cat? Yes indeed!" He laughs bitterly. "I was looking at you, En'Eliss. What else would've I been there for? I was watching you, like I'd been watching many times before. The golden boy. The beauty. The one whom everyone adored, the one who despised me. You had hurt me so often, beautiful, with your scorn and your laughter and your indifference!"
Hot breath washes over En'Eliss' face, Men'Daer's voice has dropped into a hiss.
"I was a mere kid, and so were you, but I'm sure you can still remember, if you want to, what you were dreaming of on some nights. What were you thinking of when you settled on your bed, naked like the day when you were born, and your hands roamed over your body until you panted, and your sweet little member was hard and weeping? Whom did you imagine in your room? Definitely not me, the ugly and clumsy and stupid one, the one everybody felt entitled to scorn and shove away, you like the others. How I hated you!"
The string almost cuts to En'Eliss's skin, he stares into blazing blue eyes and blinks at the pain.
"And you know what? I hated myself, too, because still I couldn't help thinking that you were the most beautiful thing there was in the whole world. I hated myself for wanting to hold you and kiss you. When the priests came running and found me there among the shards, I was still somehow hoping that you'd come to my rescue and explain what had happened, that it was just an accident, and of course they'd forgive you -- because how could they not?"
Men'Daer catches himself, eyes dilating, and En'Eliss braces himself for pain. It doesn't come. Men'Daer just pushes him abruptly further and grimaces.
"We both know you didn't do a thing, though, and in the end I realized how lucky I was to be sent away from here. There were fewer boys in Lao Da Berit, and funny enough, they were much kinder to me than anyone here ever was. Yes, I was lucky... but it still doesn't mean I'd have forgiven you. No, En'Eliss, I will have what I want, and you'll give it to me."
"Give me one reason why I would do that," En'Eliss demands, nostrils flaring. "Is there really no other way to thank you properly?"
"No, I don't think there is," Men'Daer says with a wicked smile. "Because if you refuse, I'll have to go to the priests and tell the truth about the matter after all."
"They wouldn't believe you!"
"Oh, but I think they would. Particularly as El'Teth was in the Temple hall taking part in the service when it all happened."
El'Teth? The friendly temple warden? En'Eliss remembers having sometimes seen him extend a comforting hand to the scraggly redheaded boy when the merciless taunting of others had once again driven Men'Daer to seek shelter from the shadows. Cold claws clutch his insides.
"He saw me back then, En'Eliss. He saw me standing in the middle of this hall when the crash sounded, and he knew already then that there was no way I could've done it. He came to talk to me after the priests had interrogated me, to ask why I was lying. He asked who it was that I was protecting, and no matter how I insisted that he was wrong, he didn't believe me. You want to know what he said?"
Men'Daer looks intently at En'Eliss. "He told me, with tears in his eyes, that he knows it wasn't me, and urged me to tell what really had happened. In the end I begged him not to press it, and he just sighed and shook his head. If I now go and tell him the truth, he'll believe me -- and convince the others, too. Do you realize what that would mean?
En'Eliss knows it all right.
The end -- of everything.
He closes his eyes for a moment and wills his racing heart to calm down.
"All right," he says quietly.
Men'Daer's head tilts and he smiles, an odd little smile. "Is that a yes?"
En'Eliss grinds his teeth, fighting against the fierce prickling behind his eyelids. "Yes," he grinds out, even though it feels like chewing grit. "Yes, you'll have what you want."
A strange expression passes over Men'Daer's face, and for a moment En'Eliss wonders if this was it, if Men'Daer really just wanted him to acquiesce, but then fingers close around his wrist.
"Come," Men'Daer says. "Quiet."
The moon pours its scant light on the tiny, narrow path, but Men'Daer scarcely seems to need its help. His step is sure and his grip firm as he leads En'Eliss out of the temple through a little side gate. En'Eliss can only follow blindly and hope that he won't slip or stumble on anything, because that might mean an injury and a limp, someone would surely notice those, but this is something nobody must know of.
The boldness of it all takes his breath away. He hasn't set a foot outside the Temple walls ever since his parents brought him here, nearly eight years ago, but now he's breathing the soft, misty air of the hillside once more. The whispers and shrieks of the forest surround him, making his heart swell with strange joy despite the tension and fear and anger roiling inside. Men'Daer follows the winding path downwards, and En'Eliss doesn't need to have been here before to know where it's leading: to the waterfront. He can smell the water, hear the rustling of rushes, feel the moisture in the air.
Something white flashes overhead and En'Eliss stops with a gasp, yanking his hand. Men'Daer stops and looks at him, fingers hard as iron. "What?"
"I --" The whiteness appears again, a sleepy heron rearranging its wings as it settles more comfortably inside its nest, and En'Eliss gulps. All his attention has been focused on Men'Daer's form ahead, only now he notices the large trees and the dark lumps of nests on their branches. "Nothing."
"We're almost there," Men'Daer says.
En'Eliss doesn't want to ask where, so he just purses his lips and follows. All of a sudden he feels rock under his feet, hears the whisper "Careful, now!" and his guide is pulling him upwards.
Black water below reflects the light of the half moon, and the incessant croaking of countless frogs nearly drowns the quiet rustle of the tenacious tree growing on the ledge they're standing on. Men'Daer's breath hisses as he stands there for a while, just looking around, then sits down. He tugs at En'Eliss' arm. "Sit."
The face of the rock is smooth and bare and cool. Men'Daer is not cool. He pushes En'Eliss to lie on his back on the hard stone and then he's crouched on top, braced on his hands and knees, long hair tumbling over his shoulders to shroud their faces. En'Eliss can see the glint of his eyes a blink before the head lurches down and lips clamp on his neck, hot and wet.
He doesn't fight back, though, just listens to the kisses on his throat and collarbone, feeling how their heat shoots through him. He knows he's trembling as the strong body pins him down, but it's not the coldness seeping from the stone and from the air that makes him shiver. Lips close around a nipple, En'Eliss tenses when a sharp tongue teases it into a peak and another scorching wave surges inside him. Teeth nip on his taut stomach muscles as the mouth travels downwards and then the tongue pokes into his navel, just above the multi-colored sash so artistically tied to hide his lower belly and the flaring hardness that is trying to force its way out of the loincloth.
En'Eliss groans, or moans, or something. Too tight, the cloth is so tight it makes him throb. It hurts. "Please..."
With a shock he realizes that his own hands are clawing at the sash. Together with Men'Daer's fingers they manage to untie the knots and loosen the loincloth. How can he be this eager, he wonders distantly, shouldn't he be feeling defiled and disgusted and just want to get away? Instead, his blood is singing with desire and another moan escapes from his throat when the folds unravel and his young, engorged sex springs free.
The raw need in his own voice makes En'Eliss close his eyes in shame. No, he doesn't understand this. Men'Daer has forced him into this, threatened him, broken the rules, and he should be hating this. Not writhing in Men'Daer's grip, not trying to get his legs free so he could wrap them around Men'Daer. Not begging for a touch. Not arching up to meet the kisses that fall everywhere on his body. Not fisting that long hair. Not pushing into strong, kneading hands. Not enjoying.
The long skirt tangles in his legs and feverishly En'Eliss kicks it out of the way when Men'Daer finally manages to pull it low enough. The lips have now reached their goal and his sex glides slowly between them, but when he tries to move, he can feel the sharp line of teeth just behind the head. A warning. With a whimper En'Eliss freezes in place and tries to breathe as the light bite disappears and a tongue begins to massage him rhythmically, in the hot wet heat.
He doesn't really notice that he's sinking his teeth on the back of his own wrist not to shout out loud. All he knows is that he's so close, but just as he can almost feel the glorious pulsing, Men'Daer pulls away and he's too completely taken by surprise to even protest. The cool air on his wet, hard member nearly does him in but not quite, and he wants it so badly. Needs it.
"Please," En'Eliss repeats to the hands that hold him in place, to the rapid breath on his groin. "Please, Men'Daer!"
The tongue touches his balls and he barely muffles a scream when they are sucked into the delicious embrace of those lips. Nobody's ever done this to him, never. The tongue explores and licks, finds its way to the soft flesh just behind the sac. Like the curious little fish in the stream next to his childhood home; that was how their touches felt if you let your hand trail in the water long enough. But they were cold and the tongue is hot on hot skin as it approaches the entrance and En'Eliss' unsteady breath turns into ragged panting.
Men'Daer's hands are sure as they turn him around, belly down on the rock face. It feels so hard and rough now, all of a sudden, and En'Eliss pushes his hips up. It's too hard against his own hardness, it hurts, but maybe Men'Daer doesn't want to hurt him too much after all, because En'Eliss feels how the other boy gropes for the discarded skirt and pushes it underneath him. He's grateful for that little gesture and leans on his elbows burying his burning face in the arms, utterly ashamed and yet too far gone to do anything but comply any more.
He knows he's never felt such crazy need before. He's never wanted anything this much before. He knows this is Men'Daer who's doing this all just to humiliate him, but he doesn't even care. He just spreads his legs and begs for more.
En'Eliss wants to come but Men'Daer isn't letting him. He'd need just a little more, just a little push of that tongue teasing his hole or a tiny squeeze from the hands playing with him, but every time when he's only a hair's breadth from release, Men'Daer does something else instead and En'Eliss is left hovering on the brink.
There's very little conscious thought left in his head, and what there is tells him to be silent. The Temple is not far, they are at the waterfront, surrounded by rocks. If he shouts, the echo will be heard all around and someone will surely come to explore. To save him. To see his shame, to witness how he willingly yields to Men'Daer. No, nobody must hear or see anything. They would just interrupt this and then Men'Daer would not give him what he needs.
En'Eliss almost hiccups with hysterical laughter as his fevered mind locks on that. What if Men'Daer will do exactly that -- drive him crazy with want and then stop? Wouldn't that be the perfect revenge?
Hands grip his hips as if in answer, and then En'Eliss is already pushing back to welcome Men'Daer inside him. He can't help himself. It does hurt some, but oddly enough Men'Daer isn't rushing it. At first it's just a blunt nudge but then he waits until En'Eliss relaxes and his breath slows down after the initial pain, glides deeper, stops again. As if he didn't want to hurt, at least not too much.
En'Eliss feels the heat of Men'Daer's body bending over his back, hears the hiss of breath through clenched teeth. Men'Daer's prick is so hard but not terribly thick. He can take it, he wants more of it, it stretches him but he wills the discomfort out of his mind and it fades into the background. Good. So good. Oh gods, so good.
A touch, still deeper inside En'Eliss, and he muffles a cry into his wrist when his whole body arches and sparkles fly inside his head. "More," he pants, Men'Daer pulls a little out and thrusts once. Then a second time. Then a third. "More!"
More sparkles, more heat, more. Fingers dig into En'Eliss' hips, with shaking arms he braces himself against the rock underneath, legs spreading, wanting. Men'Daer is growling under his breath. Maybe he wants to hurt now, maybe not, but En'Eliss feels no pain. All he feels is the shaft ramming into him, hitting right where he wants it to, pushing him closer and closer to ecstasy, and his own body eagerly responding, grinding into the assault. He falls on one elbow on the ground and reaches for his own sex, whimpers when his fingers close around it and begin to pump. So close.
A trembling brush of a thumb across the head and then he's done for. With a shuddering moan he spills himself, clenches around Men'Daer's hardness, hears the rasping grunt, feels Men'Daer's release inside him. Together they freeze, their harsh breath cutting through moist air, oblivious to the night around. Joined.
For a long moment Men'Daer just holds on to him. Finally he pulls out and En'Eliss blinks, lets out a quiet sigh of protest. Slowly he realizes that he's still kneeling on the ground, legs wantonly spread, head pillowed on a forearm and the other hand sticky with his own seed. Stark naked. He becomes aware of the coldness of the air washing over him, of the scratches on his palms and knees, of the gentle misting of his own breath.
En'Eliss is stiff and sore all over. His arms don't want to cooperate as he pushes himself up with a wince and gingerly rolls around to sit on the discarded, crumpled skirt. He combs a badly shaking hand through tangled, curling hair and tries to pull the cloth closer to his sweaty body. Tries to catch his breath and his senses once again.
Men'Daer is sitting at an arm's length from him, arms crossed over raised knees, looking away. Or is he looking anywhere? His head is cradled on his arms, long hair hiding his face from sight. His sash is somewhere and the skirt pools forlornly around him, a puddle of pale cloth in moonlight. He is shivering.
The silence stretches. En Eliss frowns. "Men'Daer?"
He shifts a little closer, grimacing as his body complains about the movement. It's really not too warm here, by the lake at night. "Say something," he prompts.
Men'Daer almost glances at him over a shoulder. It's just a jerk of the head, then he turns away again.
"Why don't you say something?" he counters under his breath.
"I?"
En'Eliss' eyes widen, but before he can think of a proper reply, his teeth began to chatter. He's getting cold rapidly and so he gropes for the loincloth and gets up on unsteady feet to redo it, hissing silent curses to himself when the fabric slides into place between the buttocks and gathers his still tender genitals snugly in. Then he begins to wrap the skirt around his hips, pauses, pulls it over his shoulders instead.
As thin as the flowing cloth is, it still feels good to have something covering his upper body. It also has another effect: it restores at least some of En'Eliss' self-confidence. With a deep breath he crouches to pick up his sash, the straightens himself slowly again with a reluctant grunt. Through the darkness he stares at Men'Daer.
"You got what you wanted, didn't you?" En'Eliss says, voice carefully flat despite the maelstrom of emotions inside him and the shivers that are raking their claws through his body. "Are you satisfied now? Or will you still want something more?"
Men'Daer's head sinks lower between the arms.
"Yes." His voice is muffled. "I got what I wanted."
En'Eliss would like to ask if he means it, if Men'Daer really will leave him be from now on. Can he really be sure that Men'Daer won't play the same card again, some day. And he wants to hit Men'Daer, split his lip, see – taste – blood, dig his fingers into skin until aching bruises appear on that smooth, muscular body. He pictures his own hand grabbing a fistful of that dark red hair and yanking, hard enough to bring tears into hooded blue eyes.
He tears the skirt from around his shoulders and for a moment just stands there, breathing hard and looking at Men'Daer's hunched form. He wants to say that he hates Men'Daer.
En'Eliss is tired and sore and knows that in the morning it'll be hard to pretend that nothing has happened, but he'll have to do just that anyway. In the morning the teacher expects to see them dance, body to body, arms entwining, in step like a man and his shadow. In the morning Men'Daer will put those hands on his waist and lift him, and he will have to go along, flex his body into a graceful curve and trust that grip not to fail.
For isn't that why he let this happen? In order to stay in the Temple and dance?
En'Eliss turns around. The bundle of skirt and sash is still squeezed in his hand as he slides down from the rocky ledge, fumbling for support. He hardly hears the sleepy rustling of the herons above as he walks up the narrow path, feet numb with cold on the wet, slippery ground, but he does stop when a lone feather flutters down ahead of him.
He picks it up. It's white, or perhaps pale gray, looking pearly under the moon. Pale as skin. Pale as Men'Daer behind him, solitary and motionless.
The shape of the Temple is waiting, looming above him, as he doggedly walks towards it, feet searching for the path and for the way to the gate. He wants to get back inside, back to reality, out of this strange and fevered dream, but the dream doesn't want to let him out of his clutches. It's right behind him, it would take but one glance over a shoulder to make it all come surging back.
En'Eliss doesn't look. He wants to forget again, but he knows that this time the dream will catch up with him anyway. A bad dream that he thought past and buried has crawled back into the waking world, and now he has to figure out how he's going to deal with it.
He only has until the morning to decide.
The End
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