Chapter 241 - 239: In His Arm’s.

Chapter 241: Chapter 239: In His Arm’s.

​"Well I’m not gonna make you some, if that’s what you’re saying –" he states, just to set the record straight in case that’s exactly where Loac was going with this.

This was a freebie because he was cooking anyways.

If Loac wants a scrap more out of him he has to win it off him, fair and square. "If you want something like that you can damn well fight me for it."

​Come to think of it, he wouldn’t mind a good workout.

​And from the abrupt shift in Loac’s expression, he’s of the same mind.

​"Is that a bet?" he inquires thickly, and the sudden drop in his tone makes Khobi’s pulse spike.

​"Sure," Khobi shrugs straightening up to eye him challengingly. That glimmer is already back; dancing and flickering behind those blue eyes, luring him in like a will-o-wisp that leads travellers astray, "As long as you don’t mind making some for me when I win."

​"You’re joking ."

​" A whole batch ," Khobi specifies childishly, throwing one of Loac’s typical demands back in his face.

But Loac just scoffs condescendingly.

​"...I meant you’re joking about beating me , right?"

​"Let’s go, then," Khobi decides hotly, and then hastily has to reconsider when his stomach complains as he straightens up too fast, packed fit to bursting.

Belatedly he realises theres none left. And he was planning on sharing.

Ah, shit. He’ll have to make em again someday. "...Actually, maybe in like, ten minutes. I think I ate too much."

​Loac gawks at him in disbelief, and then a moment later ducks away sputtering; clearly trying not to laugh.

Khobi inexplicably feels his ears start to warm.

​" Oi, it’s not funny !"

...

Rogard could honestly stare at Drogger for hours.

Does, even. But that’s in public, and he’s fully clothed.

It’s so much better when he’s naked.

Which he currently is; sitting on the edge of the bed with his back to him, fishing around on the floor for his clothes and giving Rogard an unobstructed view of his broad back and shoulders, and the light marks Rogard’s nails have left in them.

He reaches out a hand across a bed and Drogger shivers as he lightly traces one.

A moment later, Rogard’s lecherous gaze goes dark as his own shirt hits him square in the face.

"...You should get going," Drogger advises sagely, as Rogard squawks at the surprise attack.

"Are you kicking me out, master?" he inquires impishly, and gets an eyeroll in response.

" No ," Drogger assures him, eyeing him meaningfully, "But weren’t you planning on meeting your friends?" Rogard just hums as he drapes himself across Drogger’s shoulders and presses a kiss into his throat.

"Hmm, I’d rather stay here." It’s a risky move; there’s every chance that Drogger just throws him off and pushes him out of bed, but today Rogard’s gamble pays off.

"Keep your promises, Rogard," Drogger chides, but lets himself be dragged back down regardless.

He’s managed to get his pants back on but Rogard straddles him, undaunted. It won’t take much to get them off again. He’s already become quite the expert.

"Just a little longer?" Rogard murmurs against his lips, but he’s already rolling his hips down into Drogger’s until he’s hard enough to slip back inside him.

They’ve already gone two rounds today, and he’s going to be sore for it tomorrow but who can blame him for wanting to make the most of the meagre dregs of time they get alone?

"What’s... hah , gotten into you today?" Drogger whispers, voice hoarse and fingers catching on Rogard’s hips as he starts to move on top of him.

Rogard relishes the desperate way he holds him; the way his hands grip on tight and catch him and pin him in place.

Rogard doesn’t answer; he can’t, too busy pressing a hand into his bare chest and slowly sinking back until Drogger is deep and hot inside him.

He’s always been a bit partial to being with men like this, but Drogger really knows how to make him feel good .

This time it’s fast and desperate, and while he’s still got his wits about him, Rogard sends a silent apology to Drogger’s neighbours as the bed rattles against the wall.

He hopes they’re not home, because he’s not very good at holding back his voice anymore, and Drogger seems to like it when he doesn’t.

Tries to make sure he can’t, even.

It’s a shame when he eventually has to leave.

It always is. He wishes he doesn’t have to. He sleeps better here than up at the castle, anyways.

His father’s barely speaking to him –which in some ways is better than when he is –and he’s been catching glimpses of his men in their bright blue passing by the training grounds a lot more than they ever used to.

​It doesn’t hurt getting to fall asleep in someone’s arms, either.

​Rogard honestly can’t remember the last time he did something like that. It makes him a little giddy.

​He hasn’t asked Drogger if he’s been with other people since his wife –it’s never felt like quite the right time and Rogard doesn’t know if he has the right to ask that, yet –but it’s fairly evident that he has some experience being with men and Rogard wonders if any of them had lain there with him like that.

Or if he’d snuck down to one of the brothels in the seedier parts of the city to indulge.

​As it turns out, neither option sits particularly well with him.

​"...Sleep well tonight," Drogger tells him, when they finally make it back to the front door.

The dishes from their meal are still on the bench where they’d lain forgotten when Rogard had made it clear he couldn’t wait until they’d cleaned up, and there are papers strewn across the table that look like they’ve come from the castle.

​"Don’t work too hard, master," Rogard tells him, nodding towards said papers.

​"It’s winter," Drogger tells him, which is neither here nor there, "It’s a busy time of year. I’m just glad I’m not getting sent out into the field this time." He looks tired.