Strongman (6 page)

“I’d give you a run for your money.”

“What?”

“I’ll take you on one day.” Griff propped himself up on one elbow. He dabbed at his swollen mouth with a cautious forefinger, as if looking for blood.

“Don’t be stupid,” said Fort roughly. “You wouldn’t stand a chance.”

Griff bared his teeth. “Don’t bet on it.” He swung his legs around to sit next to Fort, thigh to thigh. Stretching up, he brushed Fort’s hair out of the way and placed his lips against his ear. “Naked,” he whispered, his breath hot and moist. He slid an open palm up the inside of Fort’s leg, the fingertips coming to rest a hairsbreadth from his quivering scrotum. “We’ll do it naked.” His tongue crept out, licked the upper curve of Fort’s ear. “Winner takes all.”

Fortitude McLaren very nearly came in his trews. Offered to his Goddess, then and there.

“Aaargh!” He leaped to his feet, chest heaving, fists clenched. “Stop it, you dirty little shit! Stop it!”

Griff uncoiled and stood, graceful as ever. “Fort?”

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Strongman

“
What
?”

“You’re shaking too. Did you know that?”

“No.” Fort dragged in a breath, counted his heartbeats. By the time he reached six, he was able to say it again, with some semblance of control, “No. I’m all right.”

Griff laid a hand on his forearm. “It won’t be so bad, truly.”

Fort jerked away with an oath. “Don’t patronize me!” he snarled.

Griff’s expression grew stiff with offense. “I’m not.”

“Gods, why? Why me? I’m not, not—” He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment.

“Get out of here.”

Completely unselfconscious, Griff reached down and adjusted himself in the tights.

He put his hand to the latch of the door. “I don’t know why,” he murmured. “I honestly don’t. I only know I want to fuck you so bad I can hardly stand it.”

“You mean you want me to fuck you,” said Fort crudely. “In the ass.”

Griff’s chin went up. He returned Fort’s glare. “Yes. I want that, your cock rammed so far up my ass I’ll think I’m going to die. I want to suck you down my throat and swallow every drop. I want your mouth on me, on my cock, my balls, my ass. I want us to do everything to each other we possibly can. That clear enough?”

Speechless, Fort nodded.

Griff took a step toward him. His voice dropped to a shaky whisper. “And when you’re ready, when you beg me, I’ll fuck you the way you’ve fucked me. Hear you groan, hear you cry.”

Fort found his voice. “In your dreams,” he grated.

“Oh yes, I’ll dream.” The other man smiled, so brilliantly his eyes shone as though they were sheened with tears. “I’m going now. But you know what I’m going to do, don’t you? As soon as I’m alone in my wagon. And I’ll be calling your name with every pull.”

The door closed gently behind him. Then it opened again and Griff’s head

reappeared. The cocky grin was back. “So what are you going to do now, love? The dusting?”

With a roar of rage, Fort slammed the door in his face.

He threw himself down on the bed so hard, it shuddered with the impact. Ruler God, he wanted to rend and tear! He sprang up again. The angry bonfire in his gut was so fierce, the skin of his stomach felt inflamed, but where his breastbone had been was a chilly, sickening void. Gods, he had to do something, had to move!

The filthy little shit! He couldn’t shake the image, the picture of Griff peeling down those leggings. They were so tight, it’d take a wriggle and a curse. Then Griff would spread his legs wide, reach down to cradle, to stroke. What did his cock look like? Was it straight or curved, cut or uncut?

He’d be doing it now, this minute, this very minute.

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Denise Rossetti

Fort clamped a desperate hand over his genitals, ground them into his pelvis. He was so close, all it would take would be the merest touch. Like a gift of the Goddess, an idea popped into his head. He’d run it off, that’s what he’d do.

Hurling himself out the door, he pelted the other way down the concourse, threading his way between clumps of straggling Fairgoers, toward the road leading to Valaressa, ignoring his stiff cock. A hundred yards into the cool dark, the discomfort in his groin became such that his erection shrank to a nub.

Sweet Lufra, that was better! Now he could think straight.

Fort slowed, lengthening his stride to an easy lope. By the time he reached the first bridge leading from the mainland to the island city, he’d come to a decision. He still had to collect his strongbox from old Barnaby in Valaressa and pay the Aetherii for Fledge’s wagon. He’d face Griff tomorrow, just to show he could, and then he’d leave.

When the old scar on the back of his thigh began to pull, he braced his hands on the parapet to stretch. Stupid to run cold like that. If he didn’t watch it, his leg would cramp up.

And while he was at it, he’d get himself laid. Properly. There was a house he patronized, not often, but every year or so when the need became too great. The whores were clean and old enough to know what they were about, but still tasty. And they were independent operators, businesswomen. If you paid enough, you could keep your partner for the night, for whatever purpose you could negotiate between you. He liked that. Virtuous women though they’d been, his mother and his sisters had been nothing more than his father’s chattels.

Fort turned back to the cluster of lights on the horizon that was the Ten Nations Fair, settling into the jogging stride he could keep up for hours. His lips curved with the memory of pleasure. Last time, he’d selected a pretty dimpled woman, all plump tits and lush hips. After he’d fucked himself to a standstill between her white thighs, she’d stroked his hair until he fell asleep, his head pillowed on her ample breasts. When he’d woken, they’d talked politics and drunk a little wine. Then he’d fucked her ass, something he did rarely, but truly savored. For an extra fee, naturally. He’d wanted to bind her to the bedposts while he did it, spread-eagled and helpless, but the whore had cast a sideways look at his massive chest, the muscle in his arms, and demurred.

No doubt she was a sensible woman, but it was disappointing. Nonetheless, she’d sworn he’d given her pleasure and he’d taken care, though the cramping heat of all that strong, smooth muscle had nearly driven him crazy. She’d cried out enough, the creamy globes of her bottom quivering as he’d powered home, reaching under her body to rasp her prominent clit with his thumb. Quite a feat of concentration, on the whole.

It had been good. Very good. He might get her again. If he could remember her name.

Ah Lufra, he was tired! He rolled his shoulders, feeling the bones creak, the sweat slide down his ribs. Fort grimaced at the thought of slipping his greasy body into the clean blue silk of his bedroll. As he entered the Fairgrounds, he turned automatically 32

Strongman

toward the ablutions tent, only to slow to a halt. Now he had a place of his own, he could boil up water and take a bucket bath in private. Smiling, he swerved away, jogging past the menagerie tent, the acrid smell of vranshit catching in his throat.

The hot water was as good as he’d imagined. Inside his wagon, Fort stood on a folded towel, wiping away the dirt and sweat with a warm, wet cloth. And his gods-be-damned cock was behaving. Good, excellent.

So what if he’d desired another man, just for a few moments? It happened, of course it happened. He was only human. Everyone had their secret desires, their dirty little fantasies. And Griff was…well, he was…not beautiful the way a woman could be, not handsome either, not… The movement of the cloth slowed, as Fort thought it through. He was so completely
himself
, Griff, with his crooked tooth and his acrobat’s grace and his quick wit. And his bloody kindness.

No one could be seduced if they didn’t want to be. Griff would find the

conditioning of a Straight Church boyhood hard to kick, no matter that Fort knew on an intellectual level there wasn’t anything particularly wrong about manlove. He picked up his only dry towel and rubbed his chest and shoulders.

Mind you, speaking of fantasies, what he wouldn’t give to share a woman with Griff! Soldiers in his company had spoken of it, but Fort had never felt close enough to any man for such an intimate act. He sat on the edge of the bed and ran his thumb over his burgeoning cock head. In his mind’s eye, he saw the plump whore, down on all fours, her red lips wrapped around Griff’s shaft. Beautiful, the tumbler’s cock would be sure to be beautiful. How could it be anything but fine and straight and hard, given the rest of the man?

As for Fort, he’d be sunk deep in her ass, watching Griff’s expressive face as the woman suckled and licked, pulling back to nibble under the ridged head, where the sweet spot was.

Slowly, Fort sank down full-length on the bedroll, stretching his long legs with a sigh of relief. Automatically, his fist closed over his stiff cock. Ah Lufra, that felt good!

Now where was he?

Griff’s mouth would open on a gasp, that pouty lower lip slack with desire, as the woman pushed him closer and closer. He’d throw his head back, the firm muscles in his shoulders and chest shifting with fluid power, the tendons in his neck taut. But at the last minute, just as his buttocks clenched, just as he offered in the woman’s mouth, his dark eyes would snap open, to stare deep into Fort’s, deep into his soul, his heart…

Fort’s hand moved faster and faster, pumping. He gasped for breath, his head thrashing on the bedding, inadvertently inhaling the scent of Griff’s skin. The smell sped straight to his hindbrain, bypassing every rational faculty, a sensual sucker punch deep in his balls that pushed him off the edge and sent him flying. The seed boiled into his cock in a seething flood of excruciating pleasure. His hips arched, a helpless groan tearing from his chest. Hot, musky jets splattered his abdomen, covered his fingers. It went on and on.

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Lufra, he hadn’t come so hard since that first time with Bekah. What an offering!

A gleeful voice whispered in his ear,
So what are you going to do now
,
love
?
The
dusting
?

Fort lay, his chest heaving, completely drained. He struggled to his elbows and looked down in disgust, mixed with utter dismay.

Wash
,
that
’
s what I
’
m going to do
.
All over again
.

You little shit
.

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Strongman

Travelers
—
Religion
:

The god of the Travelers has two faces
.
As the Traveler
,
he is a deity of good luck
,
whose
cheerful charm and cunning wiles protect his worshippers
.
In his darker aspect
,
however
,
he is
known as the Twister
,
the Great Liar
—
manipulative and heartless
.
It is the Twister who
“
runs
the con
”,
fleecing the helpless and preying on the weak
.

Excerpt from the Great Encyclopedia
,
compiled by Miriliel the Burnished
.

“Twister take me, what biteme stung your ass, Fort?” Leo the roustabout leaned against a vran’s feathered rump and shot him a filthy look. “That’s how I always do it.”

“Not this time,” growled Fort. “You missed the corners. Vranee get hoof-rot in wet straw.” He ran a critical eye over the stall Leo had mucked out. “Change it. All of it.”

He turned away, suppressing the urge to pick the man up by the scruff of his neck and slam him head-first into the water trough.

Where the hell was Griff? Still in bed, the lazy bastard?

From behind, he heard the roustabout’s muttered curse. Slowly, he turned, laying a clenched fist against the side of the stall. “You got something to say to me, Leo?” His lips drew back from his teeth.

The blood drained from the other man’s face. “Uh, no, Fort.” His Adam’s apple bobbed in his skinny neck as he swallowed. “No.”

“Good.” Fort strode out into the day, feeling somehow diminished. Lufra, he’d been in a hell of a temper all morning and he’d taken it out on all of them, especially Leo.

Now they’d walk more carefully around him, leave him alone. Which was good, wasn’t it?

He squinted up at the Sun and its Shadow, shading his eyes. Plenty of time to clean up and get into Valaressa, to Barnaby’s shop on the Leaf of Gems.

Griffid Ringman could go to hell.

* * * * *

Fort slapped a silver quarter-mark on the battered counter. “Thanks, Barnaby.”

The old man returned the nod. His veined hand shot out and the coin disappeared.

“You signin’ on with the Fair then?” He cocked a bushy gray brow.

“Ay,” said Fort, lifting the strongbox to his shoulder. This was his second visit of the day. He’d sat with the old scoundrel earlier and taken a cup of roberry, prepared the Valaressan way, darker than the innermost hells and strong enough to strip the fur 35

Denise Rossetti

from a fellwolf. Then he’d extracted nine gold marks from his box, slipped them into a pouch and taken a scull down the blue canals to the Noble Leaf.

At the Winged Envoy’s palazzo, Mirry received him, frowning as he tallied the coins. “You’ve miscounted. She said seven.”

Fort held his eye, trying desperately not to stare at those incredible wings, let alone the tail. “No, I didn’t. That’s what it’s worth.”

The raptor’s gaze pinned him a moment longer and then the Aetherii smiled. Fort caught his breath. Lufra, he was a gorgeous creature, but dead uncanny with it!

“Thank you,” murmured Mirry. “I’ll be sure to tell her, but she may not want it.”

Fort shrugged. “Then give it to a home for fallen Aetherii.”

The smile congealed for a second, then broadened. “Jan was right about you, Fortitude McLaren.” Mirry’s tail snaked out and clapped him companionably on the shoulder. “You’ve got balls. Here, take the deed.”

And that had been that. The wagon was his. His own.