He watched as the soldiers filed into the dusty little dirt alcove beside the church. None noticed him in the shadows behind the low rock wall that circled the outdoor gathering area. They looked like every army looked. Tired, frustrated, filthy, some ranting aggressive readiness for the next skirmish, others defeated and ready to collapse. Views like this never changed. The smell of blood and sweat, the clang of various weapons ringing like broken bells, tattered clothes and dirt struggling to cling to weather beaten skin.
The old church door creaked as the priest emerged to examine his new flock. Watching as the old codger's head swung around he let out a long suffering sigh knowing exactly what was coming. He didn't want to get up, he liked it there in the shade with cool stones at his back, but he would have no choice. He tried to muster enough "give a damn" to prepare himself for what was to come.
"You! Foul creature, how dare you desecrate this holy place with your presence!", the priest shouted as he grappled with his little dangling cross while going red in his thin wrinkly face. And here we go. Heads were already swiveling his direction. Weapons scraped along the ground as they were retrieved with scrambling aggression. Bodies settled into more solid fighting postures preparing for battle.
Well, might as well try to dissuade a few of them. Might just save a couple worthy lives and keep the odds manageable. He leapt up to the low wall with speed that many of them could not follow landing in a crouch with the grace of a ready predator. He let a growl rubble in his chest followed by a hiss that spewed forth between extended fangs. The priest scrambled back until his stumbling feet brought his back into sharp contact with the side of the building holding his little cross out like a sword. What a fool. Some of the soldiers shifted with uncertainty. The bold braying asses among them began to strut forward.
"HOLD!", the shout brought instant silence and left an impressive stillness across the alcove. The soldiers parted before the officer that came forward with a strong determined stride. He approached without fear, resignation clearly etched in his strong features. His demeanor was more appealing than most, in a way that said he was smart enough to avoid blows. His brow sported a thin but prominent scar and the slightly thick bridge of his straight nose hinted that it had been broken a couple of times. His dark blonde hair moved in dirty wild clumps around his shoulders. He had shoulders that belonged to a strong yet agile build. The "creature" couldn't help but think it would be something to see this man dance. The man walked right up to him as if he was nothing more than a spitting cat.
"My men give their lives to protect their homes and families. I will not ask anything more of them," He stated as if bargaining with demons was part an parcel of his duties as a leader. "I am Ian and I would prefer any altercation to be kept between you and I."
"How admirable of you, what do you suggest.", he responded in a coy manner that made his predatory crouch laughable.
"Perhaps we can reach an agreement that will guarantee the safety of my men for the duration of our stay here." the soldier spoke as if he faced an equal. A being with the right to live. For a moment this rendered him speechless. No one ever spoke to him as if he were a real person. Most people feared him, others looked at him as being evil and thereby filthy. Even though he was careful to keep clean and appear respectable despite being a "foul creature" or "hellish demon". He wasn't even sure how shortsighted priests managed to spot him at fifty yards.
"I have little need for valuables," he responded politely not wanting to discourage the first man to treat him so.
"There are other needs in life," the soldier replied seemingly unfazed by the possibility of failure.
"What are you offering?" he asked with a slight smirk.
"I could provide you with a change of clothes," the soldier suggested.
"While it is true that I have only that which is theon my back, I dare say the condition of your clothing is worse than mine," he stated with the first full grin to grace his face in far too long.
The soldier glanced down at himself taking in his torn uniform, covered in stains and grime. A derisive snort escaped him but then a smile bloomed showing straight white teeth set in his strong jaw. In that moment he saw Ian, the man inside the soldier. A brief glimpse of warm humor and snarky sarcasm. His expression sobered and he looked up with serious eyes. "This is true, well," he took a deep breath, "all beings need sustenance."
He couldn't believe he just heard that. He felt his jaw fall open in shock as a few soldiers let out surprised coughs. One even found his voice, "But Sir, you can't.." The officer silenced him with a sharp gesture.
Shaking himself, he closed his mouth and looked the soldier over for some clue to the joke he'd missed. "You mean to say you'll…" he trailed off hesitantly. He had to be misunderstanding. People didn't offer such things to demons.
He felt the soldiers eyes move over his dark complexion and athletic build that he would bet put them as near equal in size. "Is it a deal?", the soldier demanded, "sated hunger for peace in my camp."
"You would do that for your men?" he asked with clear disbelief.
"Is it a deal?" he demanded once more.
"It is," he said straightening himself and stepping down off the low wall before the soldier. "But I do not perform for an audience," he stated as he motioned his head towards the gaping army.
"Good, neither do I," the soldier replied turning to the foolish old man that had set this moment in motion. "Priest!" shouted the soldier, "tend to your new flock until I come for you." He gestured toward the church without a second glance at the stuttering old man. "Shall we?'
"You assume I can enter such a place?" he asked with a touch of sarcasm.
"If I can slay good men on the battlefield due to the orders of bigots and still enter then you shouldn't be tripped at the doorstep." the soldier huffed in return.
"Well said," he replied and proceeded the soldier up the church steps to the door. The priest's mouth flapped like a landed fish but words seemed to fail him. As he passed he could resist the urge to let go an overexaggerated sneeze that flashed a lot of fang in the geezer's direction. With a startled yelp the old man jump backwards arms pinwheeling the thin air. He would swear he heard a muffled snort of laughter behind him.
He led the way inside and headed for a door that scent told him was the way to the cellar. He heard the soldier mutter "Cheery place" as he followed him across the gloomy main room. "Just wait," he said, opening the door with a flourish and motioned for the soldier to go ahead of him. They descended the stairs in silence and entered a dank stone room. Against one wall sat your everyday workbench with shelves holding a sundry of items. The wall opposite, however, anchored a set of solid shackles.
"What in God's name?", the soldier spun toward him with a questioning look.
"This is where the holy battle demons," he stated with an enlightened air.
"Battle… right," the soldier huffed. Giving the room a more thorough look around. "I admire your restraint at relegating yourself to just a simple sneeze," the soldier commented after seeing what looked like strange gardening tools amongst the shelves contents. "And we are in here for…"
"I figured it best for the sake of privacy," he replied with a shrug of his shoulders, "I would hate for your soldiers to hear anything that might diminish your gesture for them."
"You mean that don't you? What is your name?", the soldier asked with respect in his voice.
"I have none to give you I'm afraid," he tried, and tried hard to make it sound as if the fact did not irk him. To his surprise the soldier did not wax poetic about such a tragedy.
"Hmmm, that must have its advantages," he stated in a conversational tone, "But for the sake of conversation, would you mind if I called you Will?"
Again his jaw went slack in the result of the soldiers actions. He would have expected a pet name, something that sounded dark or lurking. The term for some animal perhaps. Anything other than the normalcy presented to him.
"If that displeases you..", the soldier began.
His mouth closed with an audible snap. "No, no that's fine." He shook himself again then walked over to the workbench to retrieve its stool. He crossed the room and placed it under the shackles, pausing to dust it off before gesturing for the soldier to have a seat.
"Is the name that offensive?", the soldier asked with raised brows.
"Not at all," he replied in what he hoped was a jovial manner.
"Then you do not trust me," the soldier stated dejectedly. "I swear I will not run."
He hated how the humor that had lit the soldier's face drained away. How could he put this delicately? "Men can promise many things, but instinct, especially that of a warrior, can be a powerful thing. It could prove fatal for you if you manage to get away from me too quickly." He looked up to give the soldier a sad smile. He tried, hard, to convey that he did not want such an outcome.
Squaring his shoulders the soldier walked over and eased himself onto the stool and lifted his arms overhead to offer his wrists for the shackles. He answered the questioning look aimed at him with, "I do everything I can to keep my men safe, It would be hypocritical of me to ignore precautions."
The soldier held his wrists steady and after a moment he nodded and reached for the chains. He inspected the cuffs to ensure there were no cutting edges like others he'd seen. Satisfied that they would do no damage, he took one of the offered wrists in a firm grip and buffed the skin with his thumbs before snapping the simple lock into place. He repeated the process with the other wrist then stood back a moment to take in his volunteer, had he ever been able to use that phrase before? The leaf he saw sticking out from the back of the man's hair solidified his decision.
Walking back across the room he rummaged through the shelves collecting rags, oils, and the priests chamomile tea. Then moving to the corner he dunked a couple of buckets into a water barrel. Going back to the workbench he added the oils and tea to one bucket then grabbed one in each hand along with a fist full of rags. He hooked another short stool with his foot and sent it skittering across the flagstone floor then followed it carrying his supplies.
The soldier looked up at him with a questioning look but remained silent. Setting the buckets and rags down in front of the man he then righted the stool he had kicked across the room and sat so that one of the soldier's legs was positioned between his own. In a flippant manner he reached for a lock of the man's hair and pulled it into his line of sight to show him the grunge that clung to it. "I drink blood, not mud," he sniffed, " and I honestly do not like the stench of decay."
The man's facial expression said he could not fault his opinion. "If you had said so I would have bathed myself," he said in a tone suggesting that he hadn't meant to disgust him.
"I figured as much," he stated in a light tone, "however I do not like leaving such matters to chance." The soldier looked at him in a questioning fashion so he elaborated. "You see, my senses are much sharper than a normal man's so my concept of clean can differ greatly from that of others due to my sense of smell."
The man gave him a conceding nod then settled himself more comfortably on the stool. He grabbed the chains of the shackles to keep the cuffs from biting into his wrists and settled in surrendering himself to what was coming.
Leaning forward Will grabbed a fistful of fabric front and back and with one clean Jerky ripped the soldier's shirt from his body. With a huff the man gave him an indignant look and said, "You know I could have removed that if you'd told me beforehand."
"It was not worth saving. You offered me clothing, you can replace it," he deadpanned. Leaning over he dunked a rag into the bucket of clean water. He allowed himself a few glimpses of the soldier's body. Under the grunge the soldier had an impressive physique. Clearly defined muscles with very little body fat. A man clearly built for battle. He brought the dripping rag up to the man's scalp and squeezed letting the water soak into his hair. He dropped the rag back into the bucket then reached up to begin massaging the wet hair. The man sat silently staring straight forward like the soldier he was. He let his nails rake across the man's scalp then began to gently comb the wild locks with his fingers. Bits of grass and the leaves fell to the floor and the water loosened the dirt and grit into the watery mix found in puddles.
Again he retrieved the rag again from the bucket bringing it up with one hand to deliver water while using the other to massage and comb the locks clean. After several trips to the buck the water pouring down the man's back ran clean. He noted that somewhere during the process the soldier's eyes had closed and his face now bore a somewhat peaceful expression. He understood the feeling. There was nothing quite like being cleaned by another. He wondered how long it had been since this man had felt caring hands on his body?
He dunked the rag again then brought it up to the man's face rubbing carefully but firmly, watching as the man's face took on a lighter tone as it was cleansed. Another dunk and he rubbed around the contours of the man's ears and down his neck. He heard a deep content breath leave the man and again he found himself wondering.
He worked the rag in the bucket this time to rinse it clean then brought it up to the man's arm beginning with the hand above the cuff and slowly working his way down scrubbing and massaging muscles as he went. This soldier was a true enigma. To be so candid with a monster and so protective of his men. He wondered how many of them would have taken his place if allowed. As he reached the man's shoulder his thoughts spilled over. "So, is there woman back home wishing she could be doing this?"
The soldier heaved a heavy sigh. "No, I've no family left."
The tired defeat in his voice struck him deeply. "Perhaps a lover amongst your men dieing to slit my throat?", he tried to ask in a light hearted fashion.
"No."
The simple reply from the man made his chest tight for some reason. His eyes followed the water's path down the man's body down to where it was seeping into his pants. "Perhaps we should remove those before a happy little plant sprouts in all that dirt," he said nodding his head toward the man's lap. That seemed to break the man's mind free of morose thoughts. He shrugged and smirked then lifted his hips from the stool to allow access to the fastenings.
With deft fingers he undid the front of the man's pants and peeled them down his hips and off his legs. The soldier seemed unfazed at being naked in front of a stranger, yet that came as little surprise. He was sure throughout his career he had seen and been amongst many naked men. The soldier sat back down and he freed the man's feet from worn out leather boots. The soggy pants pulled free in a sticky clump that he threw to some obscure corner. Grabbing his own stool he moved it to the man's other side and started on his other arm.
"I'll admit I did not expect to be pampered when I volunteered for this," the soldier commented with a smirk.
"Just wait," he responded with a devilish smile as he continued down to the man's shoulder. Suddenly he noticed an angry red gash that stretched a hand's length from the meat of the soldier's shoulder in a slant toward his spine. His eyes narrowed as he inspected the wound. It was several days old and hot to the touch. It was festering, and it was not being treated properly. He blinked frozen for a moment in his thoughts. Did this man expect to die?
"This wound looks rather nasty. Are you aware that it is going foul?" he asked trying to keep the odd emotion he was feeling out of his voice.
The soldier again heaved a sigh. "Yes, I was caught by a pike during an ambush. We were lucky to win that day, but there is little to be done about it. What is, is, and what will be, we'll see."
He slowly eased back around to his stool so he could look the man in the eyes. The soldier return his gaze with no fear nor regret to be seen. "Will this affect our bargain?", the soldier asked. He felt gob smacked. Here this man sat before a demon knowing death was coming for him and he didn't even blink about it. His only concern was serving his purpose for as long as he was able. A decision screamed through his mind. "No Ian, your offering is more than worthy."
The man's expression eased at the use of his name. As if here at the end of the unknown he had found a kindred spirit and took comfort from the fact. No, this simply would not do. He moved back around to Ian's back and looked closely at the wound. Retrieving a fresh rag he brought it dripping to Ian's skin then winced. "This will hurt," he said apologetically, then proceeded to scrub the filth from the hot furrowed flesh. Ian stiffened and groaned through clenched teeth but did not otherwise move. When finally he saw fresh pink, red seeping flesh, he rinsed the rag and scraped his tongue back and forth over his teeth to bring forth a flood of saliva in his mouth. He squeezed fresh water over the wound and attempted to use it as cover as he quietly spat several times. From there he continued to scrub the grit from Ian's back then moved to his sides and around to his chest.
Bruises littered his pectorals and he couldn't resist digging his fingers in a little more massaging as he scrubbed. Ian's chest rose and fell with heavy breaths and he noted that his lids once again fluttered closed. When he finished with his hips he looked up to find Ian looking at ease. He couldn't shake the gnawing thought that this man deserved so much more than this life had served him.
He chose to move down to his feet next and work his way up. Lifting one foot he propped it on his own thigh then squeezed water over it. Draping the rag over Ian's leg he took that foot into his hands and dug his thumbs into the arch and let them travel up over the ball and in between his toes. He looked up as he heard a deep rolling groan roll out of Ian's throat and watched as his eyes rolled up into his head. He stayed there a moment soaking and massaging the tight muscles and stretching tight toes. His feet were honestly beautiful, just like the rest of him he admitted to himself. He worked up giving Ian's calf and thigh muscles the same treatment. Ian had long since surrendered his weight to the wall allowing his head to roll to the side toward one of his shoulders.
He felt his fangs tingle and he licked his lips in anticipation but he tamped down on his rising urges. He had to decided to do this for this man and dammit he was going to follow through. A moan from Ian broke him from his thoughts and he looked down to see that Ian's cock had started to lengthen and twitch to life. A sly grin bloomed on his face as he let go of the man's thigh and shifted to bestow the same treatment to his other leg.
Ian's breathing picked up and his thigh muscles began to jitter with light tremors as he worked. By the time he reached Ian's other thigh the man's cock stood proud and heavy against his stomach. When he stopped at the juncture of the man's hips Ian's eyes slowly came open and on an explosive breath he said, "I'm sorry, I tried not to but your hands feel so good. It's been too long.." he trailed off offering up a sheepish smile.
"Do not feel ashamed. To be touched is a basic need. Anyone who denies so is lying to themselves." he said in a soft voice. He knelt before Ian and put a firm hand to the side of his ribs pushing lightly to encourage him to rise slightly. He moved his rag covered hand beneath Ian and ran a firm hand over the globes of his taunt ass and into the crease in between. Ian's breathing hitched as that hand ran over his puckered rim then on to his taint, gently over his balls, then up over his shaft. Ian's lower lip curled over his teeth as his chest heaved. He used the hand on his ribs to push him back to the stools surface then leaned back on his heels.
"There now you are clean. That must feel better." he said with a smug grin.
An exasperated laughed exploded from Ian. "Yes, yes it does."
He leaned back and grabbed another rag then dunked in the bucket containing the camomile and oils. Turning toward Ian he smiled as he came forward with the rag. "Good, then we've only one last bit of preparation before we get started." Ian's eyes followed his movements without fear and more than a little bit of want. He let the rag glide over and around Ian's legs noting that the man's eyes slid closed again. With firm hands he pushed the rag up Ian's thigh and past his throbbing cock. Soon the soothing scents of lavender, mint, and chamomile began to permeate the air. He worked the cloth over battle hardened abs and across heaving pecs. He allowed his fingernail to drag over one tanned nipple and heard Ian's breathe hiss in between clenched teeth.
"You know," he said conversationally, "It is a fucking same there is no one in your life that does this." He reached over to rake curled fingers over the other side of Ian's chest..
"Agreed," Ian growled
Boldly he leaned into Ian's space and drew the rag around to Ian's back putting his head just above the man's glistening abs and his shoulders inches from that pulsing cock. Hooking his fingers, he drug them slowly down Ian's back, being careful to avoid the wound on his shoulder. Again Ian had reclined back against the rock wall his head rolled back, only this time an obvious tension stretched across his tight body from his straining neck to his bent knees. He dropped the rag and let his hands rub over the man's hips coming to rest on Ian's thick pelvis. With his elbows supported now on Ian's knees he leaned in close allowing his hot breath to puff against that aching organ.
"Well, if you keep your eyes closed I could be anybody you want," he whispered leaning in to nip the heavy tendon that anchored his groin. Ian's breath hitched then heaved, his hands tightened on the chains till his knuckles went white, his arms tightened, and his hips lifted slightly in short pump off the stool. Leaning into his arms he added weight to his hands at Ian's hips holding him down with force. He gave that hard length one hard wet lick then lowered his head to gently tease Ian's heavy balls with his tongue.
"Ah! Sweet saints," Ian groaned opening his eyes wide and locking his gaze with his tormentor. "Please," he begged, "please."
Maintaining eye contact with Ian he drug his tongue slowly from his balls to the top of his shaft, then opening his mouth and tilting his head ran a single fang across the fat head dipping it delicately into the slit. Ian bit his lip and moan decadently. Never once did he take his eyes off of what was happening to him.
Feeling his own hunger burn through his body he leaned down and swallowed Ian's cock to the root in a single slick glide. Ian's shout bounced off the walls and the man's hips fought to pump deep into his throat. He drew in the scent of the skin there with just the beginnings of fine hair. Swallowing again he worked his throat muscles around the steel in his mouth then ascended with a wet slurp.
He moved up Ian's body nipping and licking as he went until he perched with his bent legs balanced on Ian's thighs plastering his full body against all that hard muscle. Ian watched his approach with need burning in his eyes. The man's head rolled to the side offering up his throat. He licked a long wet stripe along that strong pulse throbbing beneath his tongue. Ian's chest heaved as if he'd run miles, his whole body tight with need. He heard Ian whisper something but missed it as he nibbled, licked, and sucked at that bit of skin where blood pulsed so close to the surface. As he feasted on Ian's heady tan skin he anchored one hand on the man's uninjured shoulder and braced the other on his ribs allowing him enough leverage to rock his body along all that tight muscle in short firm thrusts.
Shaking his head and forcing himself to focus he nipped his way up along Ian jaw to bring his ear close to Ian's mouth. Taking the cue Ian repeated himself on a breathy whisper. "Please, Will, more.."
Something warmed bloomed in his chest and his hunger tackled him. He gave the man's ear a quick lascivious lick then drug his fangs down that strong neck to his collar bone. Feeling his own need swamp him he loosened his spine allowing his hips to swivel and grind his own aching shaft alongside Ian's. The man growled then whimpered beneath him desperately trying to arch his hips into the contact without dumping them off the stool.
He reached up with his left hand wrapping it around the back of Ian's neck for support while his right traveled firmly down the length of Ian's body rubbing along the oiled skin. He shifted his hips slightly to the left and let his palm run down the length of Ian's hot cock and under around his heavy sac that was now pulled tight to his body. He licked at the skin over Ian's pulse as he let his oily fingers travel farther until they rubbed firmly over Ian's clenched ring. He sucked and bit while flexing his fingers repeatedly against that hot pucker until it finally relaxed allowing his finger entrance, stretching around his digit as he pushed it in and out to the second knuckle.
"OH FUCK!" Ian's shout was music to his ears. His body was beautifully responsive. He struggled to remain gentle as his teeth ached along with his cock and his finger was gripped firmly in the furnace of Ian's body. He pumped his finger slowly to slick and stretch Ian's muscles until he was satisfied two would not hurt him overly much. When he slid in a second and curled them until they pressed firmly against the soft bump inside, Ian came apart. His back arched as he shouted his release, his neck muscles became tight cords of muscle, and his cock shot spurt after spurt of hot cum between their bodies.
Before Ian's heavy cock finished kicking he struck. Ian moaned deliciously, and he could feel the vibrations against his mouth as he swallowed down mouthful after mouthful of pure ambrosia. Ian's blood flooded him like strong whiskey filling him with an exquisite buzz. He couldn't have stopped his hips frantic grind against Ian's abs if he'd wanted to. The orgasm hit him like a lightning bolt, his body seizing as he clutched at Ian's shoulders. He struggled not choke as blood continued to flow into his mouth as his breathing stuttered.
When his tremors faded he extracted his fangs and licked at the holes a few times watching closely as they sealed themselves. No way in hell would he risk letting this man bleed out. Both of them struggled to slow their breathing and focus past the post haze. He eased himself back and felt the sticky cum in his own pants begin to cool. He glanced at Ian and found the man looking at him through half hooded eyes. When the moment stretched out Ian rolled one wrist to wave his fingers in a mock salute from its position in the shackle. That caused a laugh to bubble up from his chest and he grinned.
Gingerly he extracted himself from Ian's lap then moved to undo the shackles. He bent to retrieve one of the remaining clean rags and handed it over to allow Ian to clean himself up. Allowing intimacy in the heat of the moment was one thing, allowing it after the glow had faded was another. As much as he wanted to push he wasn't going to, he respected Ian too much for that.
He walked across the room to give Ian some space and rummage amongst the priests things again. He found a thin shift and offered it to Ian. "It's not much, but should be enough to get you back to your supplies without too many raised eyebrows."
"Thank you," Ian replied as he donned the garment.
Once the mess was cleaned up they both headed toward the stairs. He turned before reaching the first step and offered Ian his hand. Ian grasped his palm in a firm grip with no sign of hesitation. "You've my word, I'll not hassle nor harm you or your men." With that he turned and in the speed known to his kind sprinted up the stairs and out of the building before Ian could even open his mouth to respond.