The road curled along the coastline like a lazy serpent, pale stone and packed dirt hugging cliffs streaked with salt and moss. Far below, the sea crashed against black rocks in booming bursts that sent mist into the evening air. The scent of brine mixed with woodsmoke from Sylvan’s small campfire and the lingering sweetness of dried citrus peel simmering in a copper kettle beside it.
Tristan leaned back against a fallen driftwood log with his boots stretched toward the fire, broad shoulders relaxed beneath a loose charcoal tunic damp from the ocean wind. The fabric clung enough to hint at the hard planes of his chest and stomach underneath. His dark hair had grown slightly longer over the past week, curling at the ends from saltwater and sweat. He caught Sylvan staring and smirked without opening his eyes.
“You keep looking at me like you’re deciding where to carve me up.”
Sylvan snorted softly from where he sat cross-legged beside his notes. “Purely academic thoughts.”
“Mm.” Tristan opened one eye lazily. “That so.”
“It is.”
“You’d be a terrible liar if I didn’t know exactly what your face looks like when you’re flustered.”
Sylvan clicked his tongue and scribbled harder into his journal just to avoid looking at him again. The problem was that Tristan had become unbearable to observe lately. Not because he was irritating-though he absolutely was-but because every little thing he did seemed to settle deeper under Sylvan’s skin now.
The easy confidence when speaking to strangers.
The low laugh that rolled out of him after bad jokes.
The absentminded way he stretched after battle, shirt lifting just enough to expose the hard taper of his waist and the dark trail of hair beneath his navel.
And worst of all, the gentleness.
Tristan had always been strong. Always handsome in that broad, rugged way village girls whispered about when they thought nobody could hear. But Sylvan had forgotten how careful he could be too. How he’d steady Sylvan by the elbow crossing slick rocks. How he silently handed him the better portions of meals without mentioning it. How his eyes softened every single time Sylvan became excited over alchemical discoveries.
It was dangerous.
Because the more they held back from touching, the more every accidental brush became unbearable.
Earlier that afternoon Tristan had grabbed Sylvan’s wrist to yank him clear of a snapping mire-toad tongue during a roadside ambush. Nothing more than instinct.
But Sylvan had felt resonance spark straight up his arm anyway.
Not enough to trigger anything significant.
Enough to make his stomach tighten.
Enough that Tristan had immediately released him afterward and cleared his throat awkwardly while pretending to inspect his sword.
Now the tension sat between them beside the fire, warm and heavy as the humid island air drifting closer each night.
Kruken Island was visible now.
A dark shape on the horizon.
Jagged mountains rose from the sea like broken teeth, crowned in stormclouds even while the mainland skies stayed mostly clear. Occasional flashes of distant lightning pulsed deep within the clouds without sound. The Storm Isles truly lived up to their name.
Sylvan closed his notebook. “You ever been there before?”
Tristan shook his head. “Closest I got was escort duty in the southern ports. Everyone says the Isles are half civilized and half trying to kill you.”
“That narrows it down very little.”
“Fair.” Tristan chuckled. “Apparently the storms there never fully stop. Makes the soil rich though. Traders pay stupid amounts for spice roots grown on Kruken.”
Sylvan hummed thoughtfully. “Storm-touched flora...” His eyes brightened immediately. “Do you realize what that could mean for catalyst potency?”
“There he goes.”
“What?”
“That look.” Tristan grinned openly now. “You start talking about plants and suddenly you forget basic human needs. Food. Sleep. Pants.”
“I wear pants.”
“Questionably.”
Sylvan looked down at his light traveling robes split high along the thighs for mobility and scoffed. “You’re one to talk. Half your chest is out whenever temperatures rise above mild.”
Tristan stretched deliberately then, arms lifting overhead. The motion pulled his tunic taut across thick muscle before exposing a stripe of tan stomach. “Maybe I just like the attention.”
Sylvan immediately looked away toward the sea. That only made Tristan laugh harder.
Gods, he was impossible.
The fire crackled softly between them while night deepened overhead. Travelers farther down the road murmured around distant campsites. Somewhere beyond the dunes came the rhythmic chirp of marsh insects and the occasional cry of seabirds.
Sylvan poured tea into two clay cups to occupy his hands. When he passed one over, Tristan’s fingers brushed his. The resonance answered instantly. Not explosive this time. Just warm.
A deep humming recognition beneath the skin. Both men paused. Tristan’s eyes flicked downward briefly to their hands before meeting Sylvan’s again. Neither pulled away immediately. The air itself felt thicker suddenly.
Sylvan could still remember every detail of the ritual with Fij. Tristan beneath him. The heat. The sounds. The overwhelming flood of mana and pleasure until his body had gone weak from it. Even now the memory returned sharp enough to make his pulse jump.
Tristan swallowed once.
Hard.
Then finally released the cup and leaned back again with a long exhale through his nose. “We really are going to have to figure this out eventually.”
Sylvan stared into his tea. “Probably.”
“Because right now it feels like sleeping beside a loaded cannon every night.”
That startled a laugh out of Sylvan before he could stop it.
Tristan grinned proudly at managing it. Then quieter, softer-
“I’m not complaining, by the way.”
The joking edge faded from his voice just enough to make Sylvan’s chest tighten unexpectedly.
Neither of them said anything after that. The stormclouds over Kruken flickered again in eerie silence while the waves rolled endlessly against the shore below.
Across the fire, Tristan had finally removed his outer traveling coat after complaining for nearly an hour about the humidity rolling off the sea. The new harness Fij had gifted him crossed his chest in dark blue leather bands, fitted snugly against broad muscle and sun-warmed skin. Silver buckles glinted softly in the firelight each time Tristan moved.
It was absurd. Entirely unfair. The harness emphasized everything Sylvan already struggled not to think about: the breadth of Tristan’s shoulders, the dense muscle of his chest beneath the leather straps, the faint dusting of copper-red hair disappearing down his sternum, the powerful taper of his stomach and waist. Even seated casually with one knee bent, Tristan looked like some tavern mural painted specifically to ruin alchemists academically.
And the bastard did not even realize it. If it weren’t for its practical use securing weapons and travel gear, Sylvan would have found it outright pornographic.
His mind betrayed him immediately. Tristan holding him down wearing that harness. Leather creaking softly while broad hands spread Sylvan’s thighs apart. That massive chest looming over him while Tristan buried himself deep inside-
No.
Absolutely not. Sylvan nearly slapped himself with his own notebook. Stop that. Not now.
Not while Tristan sat five feet away looking unfairly beautiful beneath the firelight.
A blush climbed straight up Sylvan’s throat anyway. Unfortunately Tristan noticed nearly everything when it came to him.
“You alright over there?” Tristan asked casually, poking at the fire with a stick. “You’ve made three different faces in the last minute.”
“I did not.”
“You absolutely did.”
Sylvan hid behind his teacup. “Mind your own business.”
Tristan snorted warmly. But even that sound was attractive now.
Then Tristan lifted both arms to gather his thick copper-red hair behind his head, tying it loosely into a knot to cool himself off. The movement flexed everything at once. Broad shoulders rolling. Arms tightening. Chest shifting beneath the leather straps. The faint sheen of sweat along tan skin catching orange firelight.
Masculinity radiated off him so naturally it barely seemed intentional. Tristan never posed. Never preened. Never tried to appear desirable. He simply existed that way. Large. Warm. Strong. Comfortably male in a manner that made Sylvan’s stomach feel strange and liquid.
Gods above, he’s beautiful.
The thought landed with alarming softness. Not lust this time. Something gentler.
Across the fire Tristan relaxed again, entirely unaware he had nearly killed a man merely by tying his hair back.
“Well,” he said lazily, “if Kruken’s weather is this sticky all year I’m walking around shirtless permanently.”
“You already spend half your life shirtless.”
“Mm. True.”
“And the other half complaining about heat.”
“That’s because the material they makes shirts with is so heavy. Can you make something better with your alchemy?”
Sylvan barked out a startled laugh despite himself. The fact of the matter was that he could. And in fact many types of material readily made by Alchemists and clothiers alike already used lighter materials made for travel and heat. He knew that Tristan didn’t shop for clothes though. Tristan grew up with a fairly strict, and often poor, mercenary grandfather who probably didn’t know there were any clothes not made out of old burlap sacks.
Tristan laughed at the smile on Sylvan’s face as Sylvan thought of an answer to his question.
His laugh was beguiling and deep and somehow still youthful. Like a giant fucking puppy. A giant, muscular, deeply sexy puppy wearing a leather harness. Sylvan sighed into his cup.
They were going to have to do something about this eventually, because Fij had been right. When their resonance reserves finally dipped again, there would need to be another ritual. Another synchronization. Another deliberate exchange of mana and intimacy.
Another excuse to end up tangled together breathless and shaking.
“Lean into sex,” Fij had instructed them with that infuriatingly smug smile.
“Lean into the pleasure of it for the sake of resonance.”
At the time Sylvan had wanted to throw a shoe at him. Now the words lived permanently somewhere near the front of his mind. The problem was that restraint itself had become erotic. Every night sleeping beside Tristan without touching him.
Every accidental brush of shoulders.
Every low laugh.
Every glance.
Every memory of Tristan moaning beneath him during the ritual with Fij.
Every memory of being held afterward against that massive chest.
Sylvan stared into the fire quietly.
Across from him, Tristan watched him over the rim of his own cup.
He’s thinking too hard again, Tristan thought fondly. Cute when he does that.
The mercenary’s expression softened almost helplessly. Because that was becoming the real issue now. Not the sex. Not even the resonance. It was the terrifying ease of this. Traveling together. Eating together. Sleeping beside each other beneath the stars. Fighting back-to-back without needing words. Laughing until their stomachs hurt over jokes nobody else understood.
Tristan had spent years wandering between contracts, villages, guild halls, campsites, and battlefields.
Nothing had ever felt this natural before. Sylvan finally looked up again. Their eyes met across the fire. Warmth lingered there instantly. Dangerous warmth.
Slowly, almost shyly, Sylvan nudged Tristan’s boot with his own beneath the edge of the firelight. A tiny gesture. Barely anything. But Tristan lit up like sunrise. His entire face softened into a grin so open and boyishly pleased it made Sylvan’s chest ache.
There it is again.
That feeling.
The one getting harder to ignore.
Damn, Sylvan thought helplessly. Do I love this man?
Across from him Tristan leaned back against the driftwood with an expression so fond it bordered on lovestruck.
Gods, I really might love him.
The sea wind rolled through camp carrying salt, rain, and distant storm air from Kruken Island while the fire crackled warmly between them.
The first raindrop landed directly in Tristan’s tea. He stared down at it with visible betrayal. Then another struck his shoulder. Another hissed softly against the fire.
“Oh, come on,” Tristan groaned toward the sky. “We just got comfortable.”
The drizzle rolled in fast after that, soft coastal rain carried sideways by sea wind. Not a violent storm yet, but enough to soak clothing and ruin sleep if ignored too long. The scent of wet earth and salt intensified immediately around them while the fire crackled and spat beneath scattered droplets.
Tristan muttered something deeply insulting about island weather under his breath while reaching for their packs.
Sylvan, meanwhile, had already yanked his rolled sleeping mat free.
An idea struck him instantly.
Before Tristan could even ask what he was doing, Sylvan unfolded the mat overhead like a makeshift canopy and stepped directly into Tristan’s space.
Then climbed straight into his lap.
Tristan’s brain stopped functioning.
Sylvan straddled his hips naturally, knees settling beside Tristan’s thighs while he held the sleeping mat over both their heads against the rain. The cramped little shelter forced them nearly chest-to-chest immediately. Warm. Close. Intimate enough that Tristan could feel the heat of Sylvan through both their clothes.
“Oh,” Tristan said intelligently.
Rain pattered steadily atop the mat overhead. Sylvan burst into laughter at the expression on his face.
“What?” he asked, grinning. “You looked like you forgot your own name.”
“I might have.”
The proximity hit both of them hard.
And damn-
Sylvan could smell him now. Not fresh soap or bath oils this time, but real Tristan. Several long travel days without proper bathing. Sweat dried into warm skin. Leather harness worn against his chest. Pine smoke caught in fabric. Sea salt in his hair. Male musk thickened by humidity and rain.
It should not have been attractive. Instead Sylvan’s entire body reacted instantly. His stomach tightened and his pulse fluttered. Heat spread low in his abdomen so quickly it almost embarrassed him.
Gods above.
The scent pouring off Tristan felt intoxicating this close. Honest. Physical. Comforting in a deeply animal way Sylvan’s Fleshcraft instincts responded to immediately.
Across from him, Tristan had completely forgotten he’d been annoyed about the rain at all.
Because Sylvan was in his lap.
Beautiful Sylvan.
Pretty flushed cheeks.
Blond hair dampening softly in the sea mist.
Blue eyes bright in the dim firelight.
Long thighs spread across Tristan’s hips.
And that little pleased smile he only made when genuinely happy.
I could stay like this forever, Tristan thought helplessly.
Without hesitation, he wrapped both strong arms around Sylvan’s waist.
The motion pulled Sylvan fully against him.
Chest to chest now.
The leather harness pressed warmly against Sylvan’s thinner frame beneath damp fabric. Tristan’s body heat surrounded him immediately, broad and solid and overwhelmingly safe. Rain drummed softly above them. Neither seemed interested in moving.
Sylvan laughed again, quieter this time. “It seems the weather wanted us this close.”
“Mm.” Tristan’s hands flexed gently at his waist. “Would feel rude to argue with nature.”
That made Sylvan snort. Gods, the situation was ridiculous. Rainwater dripping off the edges of a travel mat while he straddled a giant mercenary beside a dying campfire like some scandalous romance illustration sold in southern port markets.
And yet-
Who could possibly stay irritated while sitting in Tristan Janis’s lap?
Especially when the man looked at him like this. Like Sylvan had personally hung every star in the sky. Like he was something precious. Desired. Wanted.
The realization softened Sylvan instantly. His smile faded into something smaller. Tristan noticed right away. The rain thickened around them. Cold droplets slid down Sylvan’s wrist where he held the mat overhead. Tristan instinctively shifted one hand from Sylvan’s waist to help support it, their fingers brushing together above them.
Resonance hummed warmly beneath the contact.
Neither even pretended not to notice anymore.
For one suspended moment they simply stared at each other.
Close enough to feel each other breathing.
Close enough that Sylvan could see tiny freckles hidden beneath the hair on Tristan’s brow.
Close enough that Tristan could smell amber oil lingering faintly beneath Sylvan’s skin even after days on the road.
Then both leaned forward at exactly the same time. Their mouths met hard. The kiss stole the remaining air from both of them immediately.
Sylvan made a soft sound against Tristan’s mouth as large hands tightened instinctively at his waist. Tristan kissed him like he’d been restraining himself for days-which, technically, he had. Slow at first, then deeper when Sylvan tilted into him willingly, lips parting beneath his.
Rain tapped steadily around their tiny shelter while the world beyond blurred into salt wind and darkness.
Sylvan’s free hand slid into Tristan’s damp hair at the nape of his neck, loosening strands from the rough knot there. Tristan groaned softly into the kiss at the feeling.
“Mmh-fuck,” he breathed against Sylvan’s lips.
The curse sent heat straight through Sylvan’s stomach.
Gods, he loved hearing Tristan lose composure.
Their resonance stirred immediately beneath the kiss.
Not explosive.
Not overwhelming.
Just deep.
Steady.
Like glowing embers finally given oxygen again.
Golden warmth flickered faintly beneath Sylvan’s skin where Tristan held him.
Tristan felt it too.
His forehead rested briefly against Sylvan’s after the kiss finally broke, both breathing harder now inside their ridiculous little rain shelter. Sylvan’s hands moved almost greedily now, sliding over Tristan’s chest beneath the damp tunic and along the leather harness crossing his torso. His fingers traced the thick straps where they hugged broad pectorals and powerful shoulders, feeling warm rainwater slicking the leather smooth beneath his touch.
Even soaked through, Tristan looked devastating.
The harness emphasized every brutally masculine thing about him: thick neck, broad chest, heavy shoulders built for swinging oversized blades, hard stomach beneath loose fabric, powerful thighs spread beneath Sylvan where he still straddled his lap. The rain-darkened leather against freckled skin made him look less like a mercenary and more like some wandering warrior god out of southern tavern stories.
Sylvan groaned softly against Tristan’s mouth before he could stop himself.
“You look so fucking sexy in this,” he admitted breathlessly, fingers curling around one leather strap over Tristan’s chest. “It’s genuinely unfair.”
Tristan froze for half a second.
Then blushed hard. Actually blushed. The color spread across his freckled cheeks all the way to the tips of his ears while a helpless grin broke across his face.
“You really think so?”
The sincerity in his voice nearly killed Sylvan on the spot. Because Tristan wasn’t fishing for compliments. He genuinely loved hearing Sylvan say it. Loved knowing he could affect him this way. That massive, beautiful man looked almost giddy from being desired.
Gods, he likes when I look at him like this, Sylvan realized with sudden dangerous clarity.
Tristan’s eyes darkened warmly at the way Sylvan kept touching him. Then he surged forward and kissed him deeper.
Tongue this time. Hot and eager and a little messy in the way truly hungry kisses often became.
“Mmh-”
The sound tore straight from Sylvan’s throat as Tristan’s large hand slid up the back of his neck, fingers tangling into blond hair while he kissed him harder. Their mouths opened against each other instinctively, tongues brushing slow and deep while rain hammered steadily above the makeshift shelter.
Tristan tasted like tea and salt and pure male heat. Sylvan moaned softly into his mouth. Tristan answered with a rougher sound of his own.
The resonance responded instantly.
Warm gold flickered visibly beneath both their skin now, faint threads of mana curling through the humid darkness around them. The air itself felt thicker again, charged by attraction and physical closeness.
And their bodies were reacting far too honestly to ignore anymore.
Sylvan shifted slightly in Tristan’s lap-
Then felt it.
A heavy pressure against his stomach through damp trousers.
His breath caught immediately.
Fuck.
Tristan’s cock was already hard.
Not half-hard.
Not stirring.
Fully thickened beneath him.
Large enough that Sylvan could feel its shape even through layers of soaked fabric pressing between their bodies. The realization sent liquid heat straight through him.
Tristan felt Sylvan notice.
“Sorry,” he muttered against his mouth, sounding not remotely sorry. “You’re sitting in my lap looking like this. I’m only human.”
Sylvan laughed breathlessly despite himself. “You’re enormous.”
“That sounded less like a complaint than you intended.”
“It wasn’t one.”
That earned him another deep kiss immediately.
Outside their tiny shelter the rain intensified sharply, wind rustling the nearby trees hard enough to send droplets spraying sideways. Their fire sputtered pitifully behind them.
Then died altogether with a hiss.
“Well,” Tristan muttered without taking his eyes off Sylvan, “there goes dinner.”
Sylvan glanced out beyond the mat overhead toward the edge of the clearing. A dense thicket of cedar and twisted coastal pines stood nearby, branches thick enough to offer better cover from the worsening rain.
He pointed toward it. “We should move before everything we own gets ruined.”
Tristan looked profoundly uninterested in moving Sylvan off his lap.
Sylvan smirked knowingly. “You can ravish me under the trees instead.”
The words slipped out before he could stop them.
Both men stared at each other.
Then Tristan made a low sound deep in his chest that almost resembled a growl.
“Dangerous thing to say to me right now.”
Heat flooded Sylvan’s face immediately.
But he absolutely did not take it back.
The mercenary moved quickly after that.
With effortless strength Tristan lifted Sylvan clean off his lap, hands gripping firmly beneath his thighs and ass for one brief breathtaking moment before setting him down. Sylvan barely had time to regain balance before Tristan was already moving through the rain.
Everything about him looked unfairly masculine now. Broad back flexing beneath his leather harness, dark with rainwater. Copper hair escaping loose around his face. Heavy boots splashing through mud while he spread his own sleeping mat over their packs, satchels, bedrolls, and Sylvan’s precious foldable alchemy pot with quick practical movements.
Then Tristan turned back toward him. Rain rolled down his throat beneath the open collar of his tunic. His chest heaved slightly from arousal and adrenaline both.
Shit. Sylvan wanted to climb him.
Without hesitation Tristan strode forward and grabbed Sylvan’s smaller hand in his own.
Large. Calloused. Warm despite the rain. The contact alone made resonance pulse sharply again.
“C’mon,” Tristan said, grinning wildly now.
Then he hauled Sylvan laughing through the storm toward the trees.
Rain soaked them almost instantly once they abandoned the little shelter. Sylvan nearly slipped in the mud, laughing breathlessly while Tristan kept tugging him forward with easy strength.
“You absolute menace-”
“You were the one talking about ravishing!”
“I said one thing!”
“A very memorable thing!”
They stumbled beneath the trees together, branches catching most of the rainfall overhead. Water still dripped steadily around them, cool against overheated skin, but the dense cedar cover muted the storm into softer rushing sound and damp earthy darkness.
The scent there was intoxicating.
Wet bark.
Rain-soaked pine.
Sea salt.
Male sweat.
Leather.
And Tristan.
Before Sylvan could fully catch his breath Tristan grabbed him by the waist and pushed him back gently against the rough trunk of a cedar tree.
The impact knocked a startled gasp from him.
Then Tristan was kissing him again.
Hard.
Hungry.
Both large hands spread across Sylvan’s body possessively now, gripping his narrow waist and sliding upward beneath damp layers of fabric. Sylvan shivered sharply as calloused palms dragged across sensitive skin and toned stomach.
“Mmh-Tristan-”
“Fuck, Sylvan,” Tristan groaned against his mouth, pressing closer.
The size difference between them felt overwhelming like this.
Tristan’s massive body crowded him against the tree completely, broad chest pinning close enough that Sylvan could feel every hard line of muscle through wet clothing and leather straps. Thick thighs forced between Sylvan’s own while his large hands roamed almost desperately now-hips, waist, ribs, ass-as though he could no longer decide where he wanted to touch most.
Sylvan’s own hands explored just as shamelessly.
He grabbed Tristan’s chest openly now, fingers digging against hard muscle beneath soaked fabric and harness straps. One hand slid lower over powerful stomach muscles before greedily gripping Tristan’s waist.
So much man.
Every inch of Tristan felt solid and hot and overwhelmingly male beneath his hands.
The resonance answered their desperation eagerly.
Golden mana flickered brighter around them beneath the trees, curling through rain mist and damp night air while both men kissed like they were starving. Rain cascaded steadily through the cedar branches around them now, heavy enough that the entire grove smelled soaked and alive. Wet bark. Pine resin. Cold earth. And beneath all of it, thickening hotter every second, the unmistakable scent of aroused men.
Sylvan could barely think anymore. Not with Tristan pressed against him like this. Not with those huge hands roaming his body. Not with the leather harness slick from rain beneath his palms.
Their kissing had become openly desperate now. Wet mouths. Tongues dragging slow and deep. Little rough sounds escaping both of them between breaths while resonance pulsed visibly gold around their skin.
Cold water soaked their skin while their bodies burned hot beneath it. The storm isolated them from the world completely, surrounding the grove in rushing sound until it felt like they stood alone beneath a waterfall together somewhere wild and hidden.
Sylvan needed more.
With hurried fingers he shrugged off his soaked alchemy coat and tossed it aside beside the tree roots. His nearly translucent undershirt clung immediately to his toned body beneath it, outlining narrow waist, small pink nipples, and the lean definition of his stomach in the rain.
Tristan stared openly.
“Fuck,” he whispered.
The look on his face nearly made Sylvan weak. Encouraged, he reached down and stripped off his leather belt next, letting it fall heavily into the wet grass before shoving his trousers downward over his hips. Cool rain struck heated skin instantly as he kicked free of them.
Tristan groaned low in his throat at the sight.
Sylvan’s body always affected him brutally. Lean thighs slick with rainwater. Smooth pale skin glowing faintly gold beneath resonance. Narrow waist. Pretty cock already flushed and half-hard beneath the damp undershirt hanging just above it.
Beautiful. Every inch of him beautiful.
Meanwhile Sylvan had become distracted himself.
Because Tristan was still trapped inside soaked trousers clinging stubbornly to his massive thighs. Smirking slightly now, Sylvan hooked his fingers beneath the drawstring at Tristan’s waist.
“You’re overdressed.”
Tristan laughed softly. “Helpful observation.”
Sylvan tugged the knot loose.
The wet fabric immediately surrendered. Tristan’s trousers dropped all at once under their own soaked weight straight to his boots. Both men froze.
Fuck.
Tristan’s cock sprang free thick and heavy against his stomach before swinging downward with the movement. Fully hard now. Long. Broad. Veins visible even in the dim rain-darkness beneath the trees. Rainwater slid along the shaft while flushed skin gleamed warm and wet from far more than the storm alone.
Sylvan’s face openly glowed at the sight. Every single time he saw Tristan naked it somehow shocked him all over again.
Tristan immediately got tangled trying to kick free of the trousers trapped around his boots.
“Hold on-fuck-”
He nearly stumbled sideways hopping on one foot while yanking at the soaked fabric.
Sylvan burst into helpless laughter.
Even now, Even standing there gloriously naked except for a leather harness and boots with a cock thick enough to make Sylvan salivate, Tristan still managed to look like an absolute disaster simultaneously.
“I’m trying to be sexy here,” Tristan protested through his own laughter.
“You’re failing horribly.”
“I noticed.”
The mercenary finally managed to wrench the trousers free and fling them away triumphantly.
Then he straightened fully.
Sylvan’s laughter died instantly.
Gods.
Naked save for the harness and heavy boots, Tristan looked almost violently attractive.
Rain streaked down his massive body in silver trails. Thick chest rising and falling. Muscular thighs spread slightly in the mud. Cock flushed and hard against his stomach. Harness framing broad shoulders and freckled pecs while his copper-red hair hung damp around his face.
Like this he resembled less a mercenary and more some ancient storm god dragged from the sea.
Sylvan stared openly.
Tristan saw the exact moment desire hit him again.
Softly, almost tenderly now, the larger man stepped forward through the rain.
One calloused hand brushed wet blond hair back from Sylvan’s face.
The gesture contrasted so sharply with the size and strength of him that Sylvan’s chest ached.
Gods, I love his hands, Sylvan thought hazily.
Tristan cupped his face fully.
Thumb brushing his cheek.
The other large hand slid down immediately to grip Sylvan’s exposed ass beneath the raised undershirt, palm broad and warm against slick skin.
Sylvan gasped sharply into the kiss that followed. Tristan kissed him deep and slow this time. Possessive and adoring.
His hand kneaded Sylvan’s ass lovingly while pulling their bodies flush together again. The contact pressed Tristan’s thick cock against Sylvan’s stomach fully now, hot and heavy between them.
“Mmh-Tristan-”
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” Tristan groaned against his lips. The raw honesty in his voice made Sylvan melt.
Not polished seduction. Not practiced lines. Just overwhelming genuine desire pouring out of a man too sincere to hide it.
Sylvan wrapped both arms around Tristan’s thick neck and kissed him harder in response, moaning softly as the mercenary’s huge hand spread possessively across his ass again.
The storm raged around them now.
Rain hammered the cedar canopy overhead hard enough to drown out almost everything except breath, moans, and the slick sounds of kissing beneath the trees.
Their mouths parted briefly only for Sylvan’s hand to slide downward between their bodies.
Tristan sucked in a sharp breath immediately.
“Oh-fuck-”
Sylvan wrapped slender fingers around Tristan’s cock at last. Hot and heavy. Thick enough his hand could not fully close around it.
Rainwater slicked the flushed shaft while Tristan’s leaking precum mixed warmly against Sylvan’s palm almost instantly. The head of his cock was broad and dark pink beneath the stormlight, foreskin pulled back halfway already from arousal.
Sylvan moaned softly just from touching him.
He stroked slowly once.
Then again.
Watching Tristan’s broad chest flex sharply beneath the leather harness with every movement.
“Mmh-Sylvan-”
The mercenary’s voice sounded wrecked already.
That alone nearly made Sylvan weak.
Their mouths met again greedily while Sylvan jerked him slowly between them. His thumb spread Tristan’s precum across the sensitive slit at the tip, teasing it in small circles before tugging lightly at the foreskin again.
His body craved this man now. Craved him physically in ways Sylvan no longer even wanted to intellectualize away.
Sylvan nearly whimpered into the kiss as Tristan’s palm squeezed his ass again. Because somewhere inside his mind another realization struck hard:
This was Tristan.
His old childhood friend.
Once gangly and awkward and all elbows and oversized boots. The skinny village boy who used to trail after him through fields complaining about chores.
Now he stood towering naked in the rain wearing a leather harness like some strapping war god, groaning helplessly while Sylvan stroked his cock beneath storm-dark trees.
Tristan must have noticed something shift in his expression because he broke the kiss slowly, foreheads resting together while both breathed hard into the humid rain air.
They stared at each other silently for a long moment.
Cheeks flushed.
Lips swollen red from kissing.
Eyes dark and unfocused with lust.
Both of them looked completely intoxicated.
Gently now, the larger man turned Sylvan around toward the cedar trunk behind him.
The movement made Sylvan shiver in anticipation immediately.
Rain slid cool down his spine as rough bark pressed lightly against his chest through the damp undershirt. Then Sylvan reached down and lifted the soaked fabric upward himself.
Tristan inhaled sharply.
Fuck.
Sylvan’s ass was revealed fully now beneath the storm.
Smooth pale skin glowing softly gold beneath resonance. Round muscular cheeks slick with rainwater. Lean thighs flexing slightly apart as he braced himself against the tree. Beautiful narrow waist tapering perfectly downward.
And then Sylvan turned his head just enough to watch Tristan looking at him.
“Gods...” Tristan moaned openly through the rain.
His cock jerked heavily in Sylvan’s hand at the sight.
The mercenary stepped forward immediately after that, broad chest pressing against Sylvan’s bare back while he leaned over him possessively.
Then Tristan guided his cock between Sylvan’s ass cheeks.
Both men groaned together.
The sheer heat and thickness of him there felt obscene.
Rainwater and precum slicked the length as Tristan rocked forward experimentally once, dragging his cock heavily along the cleft of Sylvan’s ass.
“Mmh-fuck-”
Sylvan’s knees nearly buckled.
The position emphasized everything at once. Tristan’s massive body looming over him. Broad chest against his back. Heavy thighs crowding his own apart. Strong arms braced around him. And that huge cock sliding hot between his cheeks while rain poured around them. Tristan buried his face against the side of Sylvan’s neck and kissed him there hungrily. Then lower. Along his throat. The angle made his voice rough against wet skin when he finally spoke.
“I can’t believe I get to fuck you like this.”
The raw awe in his tone hit harder than any dirty line possibly could.
Sylvan whimpered softly.
Actually whimpered.
Because Tristan sounded less arrogant than genuinely overwhelmed by wanting him.
“I want it,” Sylvan breathed shakily. “Gods, Tristan-I need it.”
The confession made the larger man groan again deep in his chest.
“Yeah?” Tristan murmured against his neck. “Need my cock that bad?”
Sylvan nodded desperately. The movement brushed blond curls against Tristan’s jaw.
“Yes.”
Rainwater streamed down both their bodies while resonance flared brighter around them in shimmering gold ribbons.
Tristan’s large hands slid around Sylvan’s body then, disappearing beneath the raised undershirt. Calloused palms spread over his chest possessively before thumbs found Sylvan’s small pink nipples immediately.
Sylvan gasped sharply.
“Fuck-”
Tristan rubbed them slowly between rough fingertips while kissing along the side of his face and jaw. Huge warrior body pressing him against rough bark while his cock was grinding slowly between his ass cheeks. Big rough hands teasing sensitive nipples beneath the soaked undershirt. Warm masculine breath against his throat while rain chilled everything else.
“Mmh-look at you,” Tristan groaned softly. “So fucking pretty like this.”
Sylvan’s cock throbbed painfully between his thighs at the praise.
Wind hissed through the cedar branches overhead while rain poured in silver sheets beyond the grove, turning the world outside into blurred darkness and distant thunder. Beneath the trees, though, there was only heat.
And the low golden pulse of resonance coiling around them stronger with every touch.
Tristan leaned back slightly at last, both large hands gripping Sylvan’s hips firmly. Tristan groaned softly under his breath as he spread Sylvan’s cheeks apart carefully with both hands.
Rainwater trickled down between them immediately, flowing over smooth pale skin and the tight pink hole hidden there. The sight hit Tristan with almost painful intensity. Sylvan always looked beautiful stretched open for him, but something about this-half naked beneath a storm, glowing gold with resonance, trusting Tristan completely with his body-felt almost unreal.
How the fuck does he always look this sexy?
His cock twitched hard against Sylvan’s ass at the sight alone. Slowly, reverently almost, Tristan brushed the thick head along Sylvan’s entrance.
Both men shuddered.
“Fuck...” Sylvan whimpered softly.
Rainwater and precum slicked the movement while Tristan dragged the tip teasingly over the sensitive hole once... twice...
Then Tristan spat into his own palm despite the storm soaking them both. The mercenary spread the saliva along his cock in slow strokes before nudging forward carefully.
The broad head pressed against Sylvan’s entrance. Sylvan gasped sharply. His body reacted instantly, hips pushing backward a fraction on instinct.
“Mmh-”
“You’ve got me,” Tristan murmured immediately, voice low and grounding beneath the storm. “Easy, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”
The reassurance melted through Sylvan almost as intensely as the physical sensation itself.
Gods.
The size of him.
Even after the bathhouse.
Even after Fij’s ritual.
Tristan’s size still stretched him obscenely every time. Slowly, carefully, Tristan pushed forward.
The thick head breached Sylvan’s body inch by inch.
Both men groaned together immediately. Resonance ignited brighter around them in response.
Golden light flickered visibly through the rain-dark darkness beneath the trees, curling over wet skin and muscular bodies while Sylvan’s breath hitched helplessly.
“Fuck-fuck, Tristan-”
“I know,” Tristan groaned through clenched teeth. “Gods-you feel so fucking good.”
Sylvan reached one hand behind himself instinctively, pulling one ass cheek aside further to help guide him in. The sight nearly made Tristan lose composure entirely.
Beautiful boy bent open for him beneath the rain. Helping him fuck deeper. Trusting him this completely. The thought hit somewhere emotional and animal all at once.
Tristan gripped Sylvan’s hip harder and pushed forward again.
More.
More.
His cock stretched Sylvan open steadily until the thickest part finally forced inside. Sylvan cried out softly at the fullness, forehead dropping briefly against the cedar trunk while his entire body trembled.
The mercenary immediately leaned over him again.
Broad chest against his back.
Strong arms wrapped partly around him.
He kissed Sylvan’s wet shoulder tenderly while holding himself still inside him.
“Breathe for me,” Tristan murmured against his skin. “That’s it. Good boy.”
The praise made Sylvan moan outright. Being called ‘boy’ somehow made it hotter. In spite of the fact that they were the same exact age. His cock leaked against his stomach immediately.
Gods above.
Tristan was too good at this now. Too attentive. Too naturally protective while still fucking him stupid.
Rainwater streamed over their joined bodies while Sylvan adjusted gradually to the sheer girth filling him. Every tiny movement inside him sent sparks of pleasure through his stomach and thighs.
It should not have felt this natural only the second time. And yet somehow it did. Like their bodies already understood each other. Like resonance had taught them instinctively.
Tristan kissed along Sylvan’s shoulder again before finally pushing deeper. Until his hips pressed flush against Sylvan’s ass. Both men broke apart at the feeling.
“Fuck-”
“Oh gods-”
Tristan buried his face briefly against Sylvan’s neck with a rough groan. He felt enormous like this. Completely seated inside him. Thick cock buried to the hilt while Sylvan’s tight body pulsed warmly around him.
Then he began to move. Slow pumps at first. Pulling out just enough before thrusting back in deep again.
Wet sounds mixed shamelessly with rainfall beneath the trees. Sylvan’s head fell backward against Tristan’s shoulder almost immediately, eyes fluttering shut as pleasure rolled through him in waves.
“Fuck-fuck, right there-”
Every thrust dragged heavily against sensitive nerves deep inside him. Tristan’s cock fit him so obscenely well despite its size-thick enough to stretch him deliciously while the angle hit something inside Sylvan that made his knees weaken harder every time.
Tristan found the rhythm naturally. Strong hips rolling forward. Massive thighs flexing beneath rainwater.
One hand gripping Sylvan’s waist firmly enough to hold him steady while the other slid up beneath the undershirt again to palm his chest possessively. Tristan groaned softly each time he thrust deeper, openly affected by the feeling of Sylvan wrapped around him.
“So fucking tight,” he muttered against Sylvan’s shoulder. “Gods, Sylvan-”
The way he said his name sounded almost reverent.
And Sylvan was unraveling.
His body already knew this rhythm somehow. Already welcomed it instinctively. Each deep thrust sent resonance flaring hotter through his veins until golden light pulsed visibly beneath his skin in time with Tristan’s movements.
Technically this was only the second time Tristan had fucked him. But it didn’t feel new. Didn’t feel awkward. Didn’t feel experimental anymore. It felt inevitable.
Like their bodies had always been trying to reach this exact moment.
The pleasure was becoming almost too much to contain. Every slow thrust from Tristan’s hips dragged another helpless sound out of Sylvan beneath the storm-dark trees. Rain streamed down both their bodies while resonance pulsed visibly around them in molten gold waves, bright enough now that the wet cedar bark gleamed faintly with reflected light.
Sylvan’s fingers tightened desperately against the tree roots.
Gods.
He wanted more.
His first instinct was still to hold back.
To stay composed.
Controlled.
Measured.
That old reflex to intellectualize pleasure instead of surrendering to it still lived somewhere inside him.
Then Fij’s voice resurfaced in his mind clear as day:
Lean into sex.
Lean into the pleasure.
Sylvan’s breath hitched sharply.
Right.
Right.
This was resonance too.
Trusting.
Wanting.
Asking.
So he did.
“Harder,” Sylvan whimpered suddenly, voice trembling. “Gods-Tristan, fuck me harder.”
The effect those words had on Tristan was immediate. The mercenary groaned low enough it almost sounded feral.
“Fuck...”
Both strong hands locked onto Sylvan’s hips firmly now.
Then Tristan obeyed.
He pulled nearly all the way out first.
The sudden emptiness made Sylvan whine softly beneath the rain. Then Tristan slammed back into him. Hard.
“Oh-fuck!”
The thrust knocked the breath from Sylvan entirely.
Rainwater sprayed from their bodies with the force of it while Tristan groaned openly behind him, huge thighs flexing beneath the storm as he found a rougher rhythm immediately.
Pulling out deep. Then driving back in fully.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Wet slapping sounds echoed shamelessly beneath the cedar grove now, mixing with rainfall and breathless moans while resonance flared brighter around them.
Sylvan’s body jolted with every plunge.
The deep slide of Tristan’s cock inside him felt almost overwhelming at this pace-thick enough to stretch him beautifully while the harder thrusts drove deep into that sensitive spot inside him over and over again.
“Oh gods-yes-fuck-”
His cock jerked helplessly against the tree trunk. Then suddenly warm fluid spurted from the tip. Sylvan gasped sharply in shock. Precum splashed visibly against wet bark beneath him. That had never happened before.
“Tristan-”
The larger man only groaned harder at the sight.
“Look at you,” he breathed raggedly. “Gods, Sylvan-you’re dripping.”
The filthy praise nearly made Sylvan collapse. Tristan’s cock drove into him again hard enough to make him cry out openly beneath the storm.
Tristan leaned down suddenly and pulled Sylvan back into another kiss without slowing his pace even slightly. The angle was messy and desperate. Tongues brushing. Breath hitching.
Sylvan whimpered directly into Tristan’s mouth from the relentless thrusts driving through him now.
“Mmh-”
“You okay?” Tristan breathed roughly between kisses, still pounding into him hard enough to shake both their bodies.
Sylvan nodded immediately. More than okay, but also completely ruined.
“Yes-fuck-don’t stop.”
That was all Tristan needed.
He kissed him harder.
Rain poured over both their faces while the mercenary kept driving into him with deep powerful thrusts that bordered on brutal only because Sylvan wanted them so badly.
Then suddenly Tristan slowed.
Not stopping.
Repositioning.
“Hold on,” he muttered against Sylvan’s mouth.
Before Sylvan could fully process it, Tristan pulled out and guided him gently downward between two massive cedar roots jutting from the muddy earth.
The roots formed a natural hollow beneath the trees, sheltered slightly from the worst of the storm. Wet moss and fallen pine needles cushioned Sylvan’s back as he settled there breathing hard, blond hair spread damp around him.
Then Tristan loomed over him.
And gods above-
The sight of him from below. Massive broad shoulders framed by the storm-dark canopy overhead. Leather harness hugging thick muscular pecs and heavy arms slick with rain. Copper-red hair hanging loose around a flushed boyishly handsome face. Blue eyes dark with lust and affection both.
Cock hard and heavy between powerful thighs while water streamed down his stomach. Like this he truly looked like some ancient warrior deity descending from the storm itself. And somehow that devastating man looked almost shy underneath the desire. Like he still couldn’t quite believe Sylvan wanted him this much.
Tristan leaned down first to kiss him again.
Slower this time.
Deep.
Tender despite the heat burning between them.
One huge hand cradled Sylvan’s face gently while the other lined his thick cock back up with Sylvan’s now thoroughly used hole.
The head pressed against him again. Sylvan moaned immediately.
Then Tristan thrust back inside in one smooth deep plunge. Both men groaned together.
“Oh fuck-yes-”
This was what Sylvan wanted desperately. To lie beneath Tristan while the storm raged around them. To watch this huge beautiful man lose composure over him. To be ravished by his former childhood friend wearing that stupid leather harness and looking simultaneously devastatingly masculine and adorably flustered.
Tristan’s face had gone slightly red again despite the rain. His lips swollen from kissing. Freckles darkened across flushed skin.
And every time Sylvan moaned beneath him Tristan looked almost overwhelmed with pride and desire both.
“Gods,” Tristan muttered shakily while thrusting deep again. “You look so fucking good under me.”
Sylvan’s body arched beneath him immediately.
The storm thundered louder overhead now. Lightning flashed somewhere beyond the cedar grove in pale silver bursts, illuminating wet bark, tangled roots, and two glowing male bodies wrapped together in resonance and desperate pleasure.
Tristan had completely lost whatever restraint he’d started with.
And gods, Sylvan loved it.
The mercenary loomed above him broad and dripping with rainwater, copper hair plastered damp against flushed cheeks while the leather harness framed every flex of his chest and shoulders. His body looked almost violently masculine now-thick arms taut with effort, heavy pecs rising sharply with each breath, stomach muscles tightening every time his hips snapped forward.
His expression had gone nearly feral.
Not cruel.
Not uncontrolled.
Just utterly consumed.
Driven by need and instinct and the overwhelming pleasure of finally having Sylvan beneath him like this.
And Sylvan-
Sylvan could barely breathe anymore.
Each thrust punched deeper than the last, making his entire body arch helplessly beneath Tristan’s larger frame.
Then Tristan shifted suddenly. Strong hands slid beneath Sylvan’s thighs.
“Hold on for me,” Tristan groaned.
Before Sylvan could answer, Tristan used pure brute strength to lift both his legs upward, folding him open further beneath him.
“Oh gods-!”
Sylvan cried out openly as his back arched hard off the wet roots beneath him. Tristan plunged impossibly deep like this.
The mercenary held Sylvan’s legs spread wide against his chest while leaning backward slightly himself, powerful torso flexing beautifully with every hard thrust. Rainwater streamed down thick biceps and along the grooves of his stomach while his cock drove deep inside Sylvan over and over again.
The position exposed everything. Sylvan laid completely open beneath him. Pretty cock flushed dark and leaking steadily against his soaked undershirt. Slim waist arching helplessly.
Chest heaving. Blond hair plastered across his face while he moaned shamelessly into the storm air.
And Tristan-
Gods.
Tristan looked magnificent. Massive thighs spread for balance between the cedar roots. Harness slick against broad freckled pecs. Heavy cock disappearing deep into Sylvan’s body with wet rhythmic thrusts. The muscles in his abdomen flexed visibly every time he drove forward.
Pure masculinity.
Pure hunger.
Yet when his gaze lifted back to Sylvan’s face-
Warmth returned instantly.
That same soft pleased affection hidden beneath all the raw lust. Sylvan thought deliriously. My Tristan.
The tenderness in his eyes nearly made Sylvan come right there. Sylvan whimpered softly and nodded again beneath him. Tristan answered with a strained smile and a matching nod of his own.
Mutual understanding. Mutual surrender.
Together.
Then Tristan thrust deep one final time. Hard enough to make Sylvan cry out sharply beneath him. And both men shattered at once.
“Fuck-!”
“Tristan-!”
Sylvan’s orgasm ripped through him violently.
His cock pulsed hard against his stomach as thick ropes of cum spurted across his own chest and abdomen, most of it soaking into the clinging undershirt stretched across his body. His thighs trembled helplessly around Tristan’s waist while pleasure rolled through him in blinding waves.
At the exact same moment Tristan groaned loud and deep above him, almost broken sounding. The mercenary buried himself fully inside Sylvan and came hard.
Very hard.
His entire body tensed visibly-thick thighs flexing, chest tightening beneath the leather harness, powerful stomach muscles trembling as hot release flooded deep inside Sylvan in heavy pulses.
One.
Then another.
Then another.
“Gods-fuck-”
It seemed endless. Like Tristan had been holding back days worth of desire and release all at once.
The sheer intensity of it made Sylvan moan weakly beneath him as resonance exploded brighter around them both, golden light flashing through the rain-dark grove almost like lightning itself.
For several long moments neither of them could do anything except shake through it together.
Then Tristan leaned down immediately. He cupped Sylvan’s flushed face carefully between both large hands and kissed him deeply while they rode out the fading waves of orgasm together.
The kiss felt almost emotional now.
Rainwater dripped from Tristan’s hair onto Sylvan’s cheeks while their mouths moved lazily together beneath the storm. Sylvan could still feel Tristan buried deep inside him, warm and twitching with the aftershocks.
And through the resonance came something softer too; safety and affection. Tristan finally broke the kiss just enough to rest his forehead against Sylvan’s. Both of them breathing hard while smiling faintly, completely wrecked and satisfied.
For a while neither of them moved at all.
The storm softened gradually around the cedar grove, thunder rolling farther out toward the sea while rain eased from violent sheets into a gentler steady drizzle through the branches overhead.
Their breathing slowly returned first.
Then sensation.
Then awareness of their bodies tangled together between the roots.
Tristan finally shifted with a quiet groan, carefully lowering Sylvan’s legs back down before easing himself backward. His thick cock slid slowly from Sylvan’s thoroughly used hole inch by inch, still slick and half-hard from the intensity of the orgasm.
Sylvan exhaled shakily at the loss of fullness.
“Mmh...”
The sensation made both men shiver.
A little of Tristan’s release spilled warm down between Sylvan’s thighs immediately before the rain washed it away into the roots below. He collapsed beside Sylvan heavily onto the damp earth with a breathless laugh, broad chest heaving beneath the rain-slick harness.
Sylvan immediately curled toward him on instinct. Tristan opened one strong arm automatically and pulled him close against his body.
Warm skin against warm skin. Big muscular chest beneath Sylvan’s cheek. Strong arms wrapping securely around him.
The familiar scent of Tristan surrounded him again-wet leather, sweat, cedar rain, and sex. Sylvan practically melted into him. For several long moments they simply lay there breathing together while golden resonance flickered lazily across their skin in fading waves.
The difference was undeniable. Both men could feel it. Mana filled them almost to overflowing now; Not merely restored but strengthened. Revitalized all the way down to the marrow somehow.
Sylvan could feel currents of warm energy humming comfortably through his body where exhaustion had lived before. Even Tristan, less sensitive to magical theory, could sense it clearly now. His muscles felt lighter. Sharper. Rested despite everything.
It bordered on absurd. Tristan stared upward through the dripping cedar branches thoughtfully.
How the fuck does sex do this?
Warriors everywhere should have been fucking each other senseless before battle if this was the outcome.
Surely this was unique somehow. It had to be.
Maybe resonance changed things. Maybe Fleshcraft altered intimacy into something deeper than ordinary release. Maybe Sylvan himself was just magical enough to turn sex into combat preparation.
Honestly all three seemed equally plausible at this point.
“I’m asking you about this later,” Tristan muttered eventually.
Sylvan made a sleepy little hum against his chest. “Mm?”
“The sex magic.”
Sylvan snorted weakly. “That is not the official term.”
“It is now.”
That earned him a breathless laugh. Tristan loved that sound.
He tightened his arm around Sylvan slightly. Nestled against him like this, the size difference between them became obvious again despite being nearly the same age. Sylvan fit naturally against Tristan’s broader frame, slim and elegant where Tristan was thick and heavy with muscle.
Sylvan nuzzled his face deeper into Tristan’s neck contentedly. The gesture made something soft bloom painfully in Tristan’s chest.
Fuck. I’m gone for him.
Completely.
Utterly.
No surviving this.
Rainwater still dripped steadily from the cedar branches overhead, cool against overheated skin. Their discarded clothes lay scattered nearby in damp heaps while steam practically rose from their bodies into the cold night air.
Then Tristan barked out a tired laugh suddenly.
“Any alchemy trick that can get us someplace dry?”
To his surprise, Sylvan actually nodded against him.
“There are translocation methods... spatial folding... thermal shelter compounds...” His voice had gone delightfully drowsy after sex. “But I don’t have the proper tools. Or enough skill yet.”
“Yet,” Tristan repeated knowingly.
Sylvan smiled faintly.
The mercenary had absolutely no doubt that someday Sylvan would become capable of terrifyingly impossible things. Probably while looking pretty and academically annoyed about it.
“Shame,” Tristan sighed dramatically. “Because my current strategy is freezing to death romantically.”
Sylvan laughed again, softer this time.
Then Tristan reached awkwardly behind himself until he found the soaked sleeping mat tangled nearby. He dragged it over both their naked bodies as best he could, the material damp but still enough to trap some warmth between them.
The effect was immediate.
Sylvan curled closer with a pleased little sigh.
Tristan tucked him tighter against his chest.
Outside the grove the rain gradually weakened further, thunder rumbling farther and farther away toward Kruken Island until only distant echoes remained over the sea.
But neither man made any effort to move. For now they stayed there beneath the cedar trees. Soaking wet an d completely sated.
Warm with sex and resonance and growing affection. And held safely in each other’s arms while the storm finally passed around them.
