Polinues Marines, the would be mage.

Chapter 28.
Title: Polinues Marines, the would be mage.

Chapter Title & No.: #28. Jealousy does not become you.

Author: Darkling Willow

Pairing: Non.

Rating: NC - 17
Abuse, Anal, Angst, BDSM, Bi, B-Mod, Bond, Death, D/s, H/C, HJ, Humil, Language, M/F, M/M, Minor, N/C, OC, Oral, Preg, Rim, Spank, Violence, Voy, VS, WD, WIP.

Archive: Originals - misc. > Slash-male/male
Feedback: Yes thank you very much. An author can only improve with criticism. Please rate if you do not want to leave a review.

Disclaimer: This is an original work of fiction. Any resemblance of places and characters to actual persons, living or dead, and places is purely coincidental.
The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.

Authors Notes: For review replies, comments and thank you's go to: http://www2.adult-fanfiction.org/forum/index.php/topic/14530-polinues-marines-the-would-be-mage/

Summary: Some monsters cannot be fought with swords.

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Chapter 28. Jealousy does not become you.

Amraeen hummed low in his chest, tapping the metal tip of his cane against the cobbles, a part of a tune that had often been hummed in the darkest hours of the night, long fingers had played across sweat soaked skin recalling ivory keys, and pink lips had whispered the words into Amraeen’s mouth.

Amraeen smiled at the young man stumbling beside him, as Erlhaim jostled him and giggled behind his hand, interrupting the rhythm.
“I’m sorry.” Erlhaim hiccuped, his brown eyes flashing in the darkness.

Erlhaim had been in a good mood the entire night, the feeling rubbing off on Amraeen after long hours. He had taken the young guardsman to the town, on the other side of the Temple forest, to pick up an order of clothes for the man, and then they had taken dinner at a nice restaurant next to the town square.
Erlhaim had polished off the better part of a carafe of spiced wine all on his own, and was now feeling pleasantly buzzed, bordering on giddy.
Amraeen had thought it better to walk some of the way back, to let the young man sober up a little.
The driver would be waiting for them a mile or so outside of town.
This also gave Amraeen time to stop somewhere along the way for a quick fuck and an even quicker drink.

Amraeen looked down at the young man, an emotionless smile on his lips, as he asked,
“Sorry for what?”

“I interrupted you.”

Amraeen arched an eyebrow,
“Interrupted me how?”

“That tune. You tap it out when you’re feeling good, or in a good mood. I don’t know the song but I’ve noticed you do that.”

Amraeen stared back at the young town guard.

He wasn’t surprised that Erlhaim didn’t know the song, but it did surprise him that he had turned it into a habit to tap out the tune when he was happy.
The tune made him sad, not happy, the memories that it belonged to so painful that he felt like he was dying every time they surfaced.
After only five moons with Amraeen, Erlhaim already bore scars that reminded the Vampyr not to get too caught up in those memories.

Amraeen stopped and draped an arm around Erlhaim’s waist, pulling the man in for a kiss.
The young man moaned softly as he gave himself over fully to the kiss, a faint sigh of disappointment strangled in birth when Amraeen let go and resumed his walk.

Erlhaim stared after him for a moment, relishing the sight of the long legs, the narrow hips, and the broad back, swaying seductively despite the heavy limp.
Erlhaim huffed at himself, adjusting his awakening cock in his trousers and started walking after the Vampyr.
He knew better than try to push his luck when Amraeen was in this mood.

The Vampyr swallowed a lump in his throat, his heart sitting in his chest, a cold, heavy weight, dead in every meaning of the word, it had died the night he had broken those golden amber eyes.
The kiss was empty, meaningless, a show of superiority rather than affection, his body repsonding with lust, not love.
A silent sob pushed out of his chest, the pain breaking his heart just a little more, Erlhaim’s quiet hum behind him more irritating than pleasant.

He had to admit he found the young guardsman more interesting than attractive, although there was undeniable physical attraction there.
The man had been nearly illiterate when Amraeen met him, but his quick mind and astute senses intrigued the Vampyr.
He had caught himself more than once thinking of Erlhaim as an interesting and challenging project, as opposed to a companion. The crude, uneducated man was a piece of clay Amraeen was going to mold into his perfect consort, or as close to perfect as he could.
True perfection had amber eyes and wore a cleric’s robe.


Amraeen had found him on Imbolc, a freezing, dark and snowy Imbolc night, when he came down from the Khaliskist mountains, after his meeting with his Vianin.

He had spent the day sleeping in the basement of the burned down mansion he had shared with Lyarnan and Shirnin, in the foothills of the Khaliskist, under the Devil’s Spur ridge.
The dead sleep had brought him no peace, only more pain.
He had awoken to the sounds of young men drinking and having fun.
He had awoken half crazed, anger feeding his bloodlust thousand fold, the pain fuelled to madness.

There had been six young men, from Foggy Banks and the surrounding villages, a camp fire burning brightly in the grand sitting room, its windows boarded up so no light could be seen from the road and the neighbouring villages.

One of the men was a noble’s son, two of them were obviously of middle class stock, and the other two were clerks or notaries, but the sixth caught Amraeen’s attention.
He was so obviously of much lower status than the other five, that it was almost painful, his hands calloused, his skin tanned and weathered, scars marring his arms and the chest visible under his unlaced shirt, his woven braid so tight that it seemed to be pulling his face back.

It had only taken a few moments to realize why the men were there, drinking together in a house that was rumoured to be haunted.
Devil’s Spur valley did not take kindly to men sharing relations with each other, so these young men had been forced to find a place where they could meet in peace.

Amraeen had watched them for an hour or so, two of them had already been writhing on the floor, in plain sight of the other four, another two had gotten up and found a quiet corner together, while the last two had sat around the camp fire for a long while.

Erlhaim had been nervous, unwilling to join his partner, seemingly more interested in the bottle in his hand than the half naked noble man’s son who was trying to drag him off into a corner.
When Erlhaim had finally relented Amraeen had struck.

First he had killed the second couple, striking them just as the top was coming with long shuddering moans, his partner too shocked to cry out.
Both had died quickly, in great pain.

Next he had taken out the first couple.
Both of them died slowly, bleeding to death underneath the bloodcrazed Vampyr, as Amraeen tore open their throats, only drinking a moutful or so from each.

Erlhaim had been naked, lying on his back, legs open and his partner fingering him with great relish.

Amraeen had admired them for a moment before he struck, the frail looking noble man’s son, and the muscular, scarred town guard, with his coarse, calloused hands and vulgar vocabulary, as the noble’s long, thin fingers had sunk into his ass, stroking his prostate.

Amraeen had whispered to the nobleman to continue fingering the strawberry blonde, as he sank his canines into the nobleman’s neck and drank slowly, the noble shivering with fear, while Amraeen admired the young guardsman.

Then Erlhaim had opened his brown eyes, flashing with a will to live so strong that it startled Amraeen.

Erlhaim had jumped to his feet, running from Amraeen, fighting him with astounding skill with whatever makeshift weapons he could get his hands on, the sweat on his naked body shining faintly in the fire light.
Finally Amraeen had pinned him down on a pile of debris from a collapsed wall, moaning at the fresh yet earthy taste, enjoying the feeling of the invigorating blood. Until Erlhaim had struck him on the head with a rock.

Crawling away, on the edge of death, his blood flowing from the wound in his neck, Erlhaim had groaned his challenge one last time to the Vampyr,
“I am not afraid of you.”

Amraeen had taken four days longer than he should have to get back home, the young guard hanging on to life with a tenacity Amraeen had never seen in a human before.

After Amraeen had nursed him back to health, he had told the man he was free to leave when he wanted to.
Amraeen had been surprised to find Erlhaim still there, when he awoke the night after Erlhaim had regained his health.
Without words Erlhaim had given himself to Amraeen, and the Vampyr had begun grooming him, making him ready to be turned into a Vampire.

Amraeen had realized why Erlhaim was so willing the first time they had fucked.
Erlhaim had taken all of Amraeen’s abuse with quiet resolve, but when Amraeen had finally spilled himself inside the tight ass, Erlhaim had gasped a name into the night with pain that could only be found in a broken heart.

A name that wasn’t Amraeen’s.

Now they had an agreement, an agreement they had made after Leyjen had found Erlhaim at the cottage.
Neither one asked, and neither said anything, but both ignored the name that the other muttered between the sheets.


Amraeen heard the guardsman’s footsteps falter behind him, then a rush of wind and a muted cry.

The night was utterly still, no breeze stirring the dry air, and Amraeen twirled around, his enhanced vision scanning the dark street behind him, finding nothing but soft pools of light underneath the street lamps, and a lonesome alley cat strutting across the street.

He ran back down the street, a few paces, a soft sound pulling his feet into a dark alleyway.
The streetlamp infront of it spilled a faint circle of light into the entrance of the alley but beyond the small light, there was pitch dark.
Amraeen saw what the darkness hid from human eyes.

Erlhaim was sitting on the ground, back leaning against a gleaming white chest, clawing desperately at the pale olive arms wrapped around his chest, his feet thrashing against the uneven cobbles, his back arching against his assailant, but nothing could release him from the deadly embrace, the light in his dark brown eyes fading fast.

Leyjen was on his knees behind Erlhaim, his auburn hair shining like fire, the obsidian wings spread above his head, the tips brushing the buildings on either side of him, the whitish blue aura shimmering on his skin, his eyes floating amber, canines glistening pink as he withdrew them from Erlhaim’s jugular, swallowing the warm blood.

Amraeen cried out, midway between anger and pain, he yanked Erlhaim out of Leyjen’s embrace by his jacket, at the same time he shoved the Aaenda back, hard enough to send Leyjen sprawling on his back.

“NO! What have you done!?”

Amraeen sank to his knees over Erlhaim’s body, the young man gasping for breath, his blood gushing out of his neck in ever weakening spurts.

Leyjen bowled into Amraeen, his body back to its human form, and together the former lovers rolled over the cold stone.
Amraeen proved stronger, and with a cry he slammed Leyjen against a stack of crates standing by one wall.

They struggled for a moment, forcefully Amraeen bent Leyjen backwards over the crates, arching his back into that wonderful curve Amraeen had learned to love when looking up at his lover, buried deep inside his body.
The Vampyr growled as he pulled Leyjen’s arms over his head, pinning his wrists against the wall behind him, and their faces only centimeters apart, he hissed,
“I told you to leave.”

“I won’t leave you. You are mine!”

“NO! Let me go! Please. Let me go, Leyjen.” Amraeen’s breath ghosted over Leyjen’s face, their lips almost touching, and Leyjen cried out when Amraeen pushed away from him.

Leyjen stared in horror, leaning against those crates, as Amraeen sank to his knees by the young man’s side.

“Erlhaim? Please don’t die on me. Answer me. Are you ready? Do you want me to turn you? Please! You have to answer me! Answer before you die! I won’t turn you unless you answer me! Do you want death or life?”

Amraeen stroked the young man’s face tenderly, his heart shattering in his chest.

Erlhaim gasped, his brown eyes obscured by tears, the final breaths rattling in his lungs, and with a spray of blood he breathed,
“Yehs! Yehs. Ih ahccehpt!”

Leyjen roared, attacking Amraeen again as he bent over Erlhaim, pulling the young man’s mouth open, a painful gasp escaping Amraeen’s chest.
The Vampyr pushed Leyjen aside like he was no more than an annoying puppy, Leyjen tumbled across the alley, crashing into the opposite wall, where he crumbled, wailing as Amraeen brought his mouth to Erlhaim’s pale lips.

A very large, sparkling, single drop of blood slid down Amraeen’s tongue, and hung on the tip for a breath.
Everything around them was quiet, Leyjen held his breath, Erlhaim gasped silently, time froze in the darkness of the night, and with an almost audiable tinkle the Blooddrop fell from Amraeen’s tongue and into Erlhaim’s mouth.

Leyjen howled like a mortally wounded animal, taking off into the night as Erlhaim swallowed.

Erlhaim twitched, arching his back in pain as the Blooddrop killed his human body.
Amraeen closed his eyes, tears pushing out from under his lashes, and finally his heart died completely.
The Vampyr gathered the lifeless body in his arms, calling for his driver through the mental link he had established with the man.

As the suns began to colour the western skies beyond the Tharsirium mountains Amraeen finished filling the grave behind his cottage, then slipped down the basement stairs, the dead sleep taking him the moment his head touched the pillow. His right hand froze against the bottom of the coffin lid, fingers wrapped around a lock of auburn hair tucked into the lining, the scent of opium filling his senses.


The sentries found Leyjen unconscious on the side of the road less than half a kilometer from the Temple.

He was only wearing his linen trousers, torn and muddied, thin scratches covering much of his body, and his feet bleeding from terrible wounds. They brought him to the Healing Halls, where he woke up the next morning.

Tisék was by his side, he had told the sentries and the other clerics that Leyjen had been sleepwalking, and had gotten injured while walking through the forest.
Leyjen confirmed the story, saying that during the moons since last Samhain he had been suffering doubts about his calling, and doubts about his ability to mentor young Polinues, and that these doubts had caused him great anxiety and depression.
So great that he had begun sleepwalking, and harming himself in his sleep.

He was ordered to take a leave of absence, to go home with Polinues for the two week holiday for the boy’s Life day, and then speak to the physician and the Head Healer, mandatory six week therapy, the Head Healer giving him a prescription of St. John’s Wort tablets, to tide him over for the two week holiday.

Leyjen accepted, playing the role of a good patient for the three days that it took to fix his feet, the night after he was released from the Healing Halls he went straight to Tisék’s room, and allowed the older cleric to fuck him into the matress three times.
Leyjen beat the crap out of Tisék after the third time, and then fucked the older cleric so hard that Tisék was bleeding afterwards.

The two week holiday at the Castle Marines was utter torture.

He got into such a violent fight with Belnsair that Lord Marines threatened to drag him before a judge and have him imprisoned.
Leyjen redeemed himself by healing the broken arm so well that Belnsair was back to normal only three weeks after the break.

Arlin the hedgewitch dragged him out of the tavern in Marinesse two days after the fight, so drunk he couldn’t even walk, and saved his life during the night, when his body gave into alcohol poisoning.
She gave him a stern lecture the next morning about how he was failing his mother and everything she had taught him before she died.

Leyjen knew that this was his final chance.
If he fucked up again, he would be out of the Marines’ favor. Even Charlotta had a hard time forgiving him for breaking the firstborn’s arm.


The Harvest moon rose, waxed and waned in the sky, and Leyjen went through the motions in a daze, Polinues still not speaking to him, Hylmir avoiding him with uncomfortable, muttered excuses, and Tisék establishing a comfortable routine for them, both meeting in the old barn, as well as in each others rooms.

He was doing his chores one cold morning, cutting healing herbs with a couple of healer novices, when his sickle slipped and sliced into his arm, just below the elbow.
The wound looked horrible, and bled profusely.
The novices rushed him to the Healing Halls, and a rumour spread over the Temple with frightening speed.

Leyjen was sitting on a bench, his left arm draped over a table, and a Healer was stitching his wound together, when the door to the room burst open and Polinues came flying through them.

“LEYJEN!” the boy screamed, his hood down, his face tearstained, and his voice shaking with emotion.

Polinues stopped dead in his tracks, the pale, thin ghost of Leyjen sitting on the bench slow to react.

“It’s alright, Polinues. I’m fine. I just cut my arm a little.” Leyjen smiled at the boy, trying to sound reassuring, but melancholy tainting his voice too deeply.
Polinues stared at Leyjen for a few breaths, his small chest heaving, then with a grunt he threw himself into Leyjen’s arms, almost knocking the cleric off the bench.

“I’m sorry! They said you were dying, they said you chopped your arm off. I thought I’d lost you.” Polinues bawled into Leyjen’s neck, squeezing hard, Leyjen wrapped his healthy arm around the boy and squeezed him back, sushing him, stroking his hair.

“I didn’t chop it off. The sickle only sliced into my arm, I’ll be fine. You won’t lose me. I’ll never leave you.”

Polinues straightened, and looking down at Leyjen with wet eyes, his lips trembled, and in a low voice he said,
“Can you forgive me? I’ve been horrible to you. I’m sorry.”

“Do you still think of me as a servant?” Leyjen asked, averting his eyes to hide the pain that those words still caused him.
Polinues sobbed, tears flowing down his cheeks.

“No. I never thought of you as a servant. I was just angry. I just said that to hurt you. I wanted to hurt you as badly as you had hurt me.”

“I know. I’m sorry I hurt you. And I forgive you. You know I forgive you. I always do.”

Polinues tried to smile through his tears, but only managed a painful scowl and more tears stained his cheeks.

The Healer that was stitching the wound together shuddered as he looked up at the boy, and Polinues pulled his hood up in a great hurry, hiding his scarred face.

Leyjen grimaced at the pain in his arm as the needle pushed through the clean edges of his cut, closing his eyes to block the pain.
Polinues used the opportunity to sit down on the bench and picked Leyjen’s hand out of the cleric’s lap, tangling his smaller fingers with Leyjen’s long, thin fingers and stroking the thin wrist gently with his other hand.

Leyjen’s eyes flew open and he looked down at the boy with surprise.
“What are you doing?”

“I’m holding your hand.”

“I can see that, bed bug. But why?”

“You’ve held my hand whenever I needed you to. Even while I wasn’t talking to you, you would hold my hand when I needed you to. So now, I’m holding your hand.” Polinues smiled with innocent sweetness, his eye sparkling in the darkness of the hood, and Leyjen smiled back, the coldness that had settled around his heart growing slightly less.


Within a week of Leyjen’s accident, Polinues was back to the bubbly, happy-go-lucky boy he had been a year earlier, and by the time Samhain rolled around again, Polinues was acting the way he had been before any issues of secret girlfriends or someone coming between them had ever arisen.
Only now he was half eleven summers and so much more confident, inquisitve and determined than ever before.

Leyjen caught himself smiling from morning to evening more and more, and sometimes he even laughed, especially when he got a chance to act like a little boy with Polinues, playing in the snow or practicing their magic in secret.
Despite not having trained at all during their falling out, Polinues showed that his natural talent was steadily growing and that he had studied well without Leyjen.


It was the last night before Leyjen and Polinues would leave the Temple for their Yule holiday, and Leyjen had gone out for a hunt.
The hunt in the woods had grown scarce, rumours had been circling the area about Vampires and other monsters in the forest, and Leyjen had been forced to only hunt every two weeks.

He suspected that Amraeen and his new lover found their victims elsewhere because he had not run into them since he had watched Amraeen turn the young man.
He wasn’t even certain that the young man had been successfully turned, but Leyjen suspected he had.

He carried the corpse of his victim to the deep ravine that cut through the east side of the woods, only five kilometers from Amraeen’s house, his head bowed, memories pushing at his heart but he struggled against them, shoving them back down into the darkness of his mind.
With a grunt he tossed the teenaged vagabond into the bottomless ravine, another corpse flying over the opposite edge startling him badly.

Leyjen looked up, across the rift and was met by Erlhaim’s dark brown eyes.

Erlhaim looked changed, yet he was exactly the same.
His strawberry blonde hair hung in an impossibly tight, woven braid between his shoulderblades, the leather jerkin hugging his muscled torso in a rather revealing manner, the black leather trousers accentuating the strong legs, the laces on the outside of the legs lengthening the Vampire and drawing out the fact that Erlhaim was slightly bow legged.

Leyjen couldn’t stop himself from licking his lips quickly, the young man was very attractive, there was an easy confidence about the man that made him far more sensual than his physique alone could.

Erlhaim stared back at the young cleric, and placed his left hand on the middle of his chest as he bowed his head respectfully, addressing Leyjen in a reverent voice,
“Master Shaoir. I am pleased I found you.”

Leyjen scoffed, thrusting his chin forwards, and started to turn away, but almost as an after thought he lifted his hand up to his chin, touching the tops of his fingers under his chin, then flipping them out towards the Vampire, his eyes burning with hate.

He turned his back on the Vampire, and started walking away, but Erlhaim stopped him by raising his voice,
“Leyjen! Stop. Please. I have a message for you.”

The cleric hesitated, but turned around again, facing the Vampire, Erlhaim’s deep voice carrying through the still night air,
“Please. Follow me.”

The Vampire turned and started walking towards the old executioner’s cottage.

Leyjen considered returning to the Temples, ignoring Erlhaim’s request, but an ache in his heart made him follow, a thought surfacing at the back of his mind, wondering if Amraeen was extending an offer of reconciliation.

The cottage stood dark and empty, Erlhaim’s coffin on the floor by the kitchen table, a small travel chest and two rucksacks piled on the table itself.
Leyjen entered hesitantly, Erlhaim opening the chest, and rifling through it silently.

“Why have you brought me here? Is Amraeen here?” Leyjen couldn’t stop the shiver in his voice, and Erlhaim looked up for a moment, before he turned his eyes back to the chest, pulling a small box out of it.
He approached Leyjen, reverent, and handed the cleric the small wooden box.

“No. Amraeen isn’t here. He left a week ago, with Thrair.”

“Who is Thrair?”

“Our new consort. He’s a friend of mine. We’ve known each other since childhood, and left our home village for work in the city when we were fifteen winters. Amraeen turned him ten days ago.”

Leyjen noticed the bitterness in Erlhaim’s voice, and the pain in the brown eyes, and with a derisive smile he said,
“It hurts to be pushed aside like that doesn’t it?”

Erlhaim looked up uncomprehending for a moment, then understanding dawned on his face,
“He didn’t push me aside. Amraeen turned him for me. So I would have a consort. But you are right. I have loved Thrair since I was a teenager. He likes women, not men. He won’t let me near him, not that way. They left because Thrair has family in the south, and Amraeen wants to move there. He left me behind to complete our affairs. And to deliver this to you. He asked me to deliver this message to you.”

Erlhaim stopped, clearing his throat, suddenly uncomfortable, as he pointed to the small box, then spoke again in a steady voice,
“Amraeen asked me to tell you, watch over the boy with everything you have. Love him with everything you have, and never doubt your feelings for him. Amraeen asks that you forget any thoughts of trying to find him. He asks that you let him go.”
Leyjen clutched the box hard, his muscles shivering under his skin.

“Why?”

“What?”

“Why are you moving to the south? Where to the south are you going?”

“South of the Dwarven Forest, Amraeen told me not to give you an exact location. We are moving south because Amraeen has been released from his obligation of watching over you. At least that’s what he told me to tell you. I don’t know how much truth there was to his words though.”

“What do you mean?”

Erlhaim blushed slightly, looking away from Leyjen, and cleared his throat again,
“Nothing. It was just the way he said it. The tone in his voice. I’ve started to recognize it when he’s lying to me. But it doesn’t change the fact that we are leaving here. I’m sorry, I wish you the best in life, and I hope you will some day believe that I am truly sorry.”

Erlhaim shouldered one of the rucksacks, two porters entering the cottage, and grabbing the coffin, carried it outside, loading it on a carriage standing infront of the house.

Leyjen swallowed a lump in his throat, and started to leave.
Erlhaim gave him a sad smile that turned to near panic, when Leyjen turned on the Vampire quickly, and grabbed the back of his neck hard.

“Give Amraeen this message from me.” He said coldly, then molded his lips to Erlhaim’s, claiming the Vampire’s mouth in a demanding kiss.
Erlhaim kissed him back without touching him, until Leyjen broke the kiss, leaving Erlhaim breathless and flustered.

The Vampire stared after the amber eyed youth until he disappeared between the trees, a heavy sadness settling on his heart.
He knew why Amraeen had pushed the young man away so violently, but he had been under strict orders not to say a word, only deliver the box and shut his mouth.
He had told Leyjen far more than he had been allowed to, but he couldn’t see the harm in letting Leyjen know that they were leaving.

Leyjen hummed softly as he pushed the large book into its proper gap in the shelf, then picked up another book, scanning the shelves for the right spot.
The tune was stuck in his head now, and he wanted to start singing it, but the library was not the best place to break out in song, especially not this song.

It was an old love poem that Amraeen had taught him a few years ago.
Amraeen had had this habit of playing his fingers over Leyjen’s back after they made love, like he was playing a piano, and Leyjen had quickly learned the notes, so Amraeen had taught him the poem and the song.
It had become like their own personal theme.
Leyjen felt his cock twitch under his robes, the memories that followed that song speeding up his breathing and making his blood sing.

Leyjen jumped when two arms wrapped around his chest, a strong chest and a small potbelly pressing against his back, the stale smell of plum brandy filling his senses as Tisék whipped him around and smothered his lips in a demanding kiss.

Leyjen gave in a little, then pushed the older cleric off, huffing,
“Stop it! We could get caught.”

“Nah, not here!”

“We may be in the elven philosophical theory section but still… why do you think I’m putting these books away. They didn’t walk out of here on their own. Stop it.”

“No one will see us. Just one quick…”
Tisék didn’t let himself finish, they were both panting, Tisék nibbling at Leyjen’s neck, pressing a thigh between Leyjen’s legs and thrusting his throbbing erection into Leyjen’s hip.

Leyjen pushed at him half heartedly, slamming the back of his head into a shelf, as Tisék sank to his knees and pulled the skirts of Leyjen’s robes up, freeing his cock from his trousers.
Leyjen bit his bottom lip hard, struggling to keep his mouth shut, as Tisék sank his mouth over Leyjen’s cock, sucking him hard, twirling his tongue around the underside, scraping his bottom teeth against the sensitive skin.

Leyjen gasped, gripping Tisék’s hair with one hand, the side of the shelf with the other, Tisék sucking him off hard and frantic, and within only minutes Leyjen was coming hard, his muscles spasming, his hand clamped over his own mouth to prevent him from crying out.
Tisék smiled wickedly when he rose to his feet, giving Leyjen one last kiss, the taste of Leyjen’s come still on his tongue.

Leyjen leaned back against the shelves, his chest heaving, his eyes dim, and he missed Polinues coming around the corner, eyeing Tisék suspiciously.
Tisék smiled at the boy and winked at him, wiping his mouth suggestively. Polinues growled at the older man.

“Leyjen? Are you alright? You look funny.” Polinues asked, touching Leyjen’s shoulder, making the cleric jump.

“I’m fine. Just… just… need to catch my breath. It’s nothing.” Leyjen panted, trying to smile but it came out sort of lopsided.

Polinues’ face hardened, and he darted a look over his shoulder, demanding,
“He did something to you, didn’t he? That bastard! I’m going to get him. I’ll kick his ass if he hurt you.”

Leyjen grabbed the boy’s arm, shaking his head,
“No, Polinues, no. He didn’t do anything. We were just playing. He didn’t hurt me. He was just teasing me. Let it go.”

Polinues stared back, his one grey eye shooting lightning, his lips narrowing into thin lines.
After a strained silence Leyjen looked away, standing up and pushing the cart of books ahead of him, picking up another book and looking for its correct place in the shelves.

“Did you need something?”

“Give me that. It goes over there.”

They worked in silence, the badly contained anger in Polinues strumming in the air between them, until they placed the final tome on a shelf, in the darkest corners of the Minotaur theological rhetoric section.

Leyjen parked the cart in the middle of the narrow passage and stopped Polinues with a hand on his shoulder.

Leyjen sat down on his haunches, which made him almost a head shorter than the boy, and in a whisper Leyjen asked,
“What’s wrong now? Don’t do this again, I’m begging you. I can’t handle it if you go off on my again. This past year has been Hell for me. I need my best friend back, Ilithil. Please, talk to me.”

Polinues refused to look Leyjen in the face, and stood silently brooding for long minutes, but Leyjen would not move.

When the boy finally spoke Leyjen had to strain to hear his voice,
“I don’t want you to hang out with him. He’s creepy and he’s always trying to get you into trouble. And he really doesn’t like me. I just want to keep you safe, Leyjen, and I can’t do that if you’re doing stuff with Tisék that you shouldn’t be. I’m your best friend, Leyjen, so you shouldn’t be going around with others.”

Leyjen hugged the boy with a sigh, the scent of the Roganwood filling his senses and making his blood rush in his ears.

Leyjen lifted the boy’s chin, making him look him in the eyes, telling him,
“It’s not like that with Tisék. He’s around my age, so I can talk to him about things I can’t talk to you about. Grown up stuff. But you’re right. You are my best friend. So, now I need my best friend. Amraeen left me. He found himself a new love and threw me away like trash. I needed you this summer when that happened, but you weren’t there.”

Leyjen stopped, breathing deeply to stop the tears from flowing, Polinues fell into his arms, hugging him close.

“I’m sorry. I should have been there. I’m sorry.”

“I know. But the thing is Tisék was there. And so I’m begging you. Try and get along with him.”

“I won’t be his friend.”

“I’m not asking you to. I’m only asking you to get along with him. Stop this open hostility that you’ve shown him for years, and try to show him some respect. Jealousy really doesn’t become you, Ilithil.”

“Are you sleeping with him?”

Polinues’ grey eye dug into Leyjen’s soul, demanding an answer, and Leyjen choked on the lie he was about to tell.
Instead of answering Leyjen rose to his feet, hugging Polinues close, slightly startled by the fact that the top of the boy’s head now reached his chest, and his arms could reach all the way around Leyjen’s waist.

Leyjen held the boy close, breathing deeply, cradling his head against his chest, and kissed the top of the moss green hood.

“I love you, Ilithil. More than I love myself. You are my life.”
Leyjen whispered, running his hand from the back of Polinues’ head, down his back, letting it rest just above the small of his back.
The boy looked up, a gentle smile hiding in the corners of his mouth, and he nodded slowly, there was an understanding in the grey eye, and without another word, Polinues slipped his hand into Leyjen’s and started leading the cleric out of the library.

They did not speak of it again.
Polinues started showing Tisék a cold respect whenever he needed to, Tisék reluctantly returning the politeness, and Leyjen did his best to ignore it when the two threw cheap shots at each other when no one else was around.
Leyjen struggled to share his time between the two, but it wore on him, worse than anything before, so soon he was having trouble sleeping again.