Here you'll find
Are we curious to know what happened after chapter 25 of Ravens, Owls and a Nightingale? If we are, the answer to the question is here. Walk into a dusky room with Mioll the minstrel.
Give & Take
Of course the nonchalant look on his face was just a mask, but he was pretty proud of it. No one who saw him walking along the corridor could've possibly doubted that a genuinely important and perfectly legitimate errand had brought him here, walking in the corridor towards the guest chambers. He was here for a purpose, hence the brisk step and businesslike demeanor!
He reached the correct door, hesitated for a couple of breaths and then knocked audibly, heart rate almost tripling as he heard the loud sound. What if he had, after all, misunderstood? Or what it if had been just a practical joke? He couldn't expect them to be above such –
The door cracked open and Mioll looked up at the smile that greeted him from the dusky room.
"Ah, it's you, minstrel. Come on in."
Sorel, bootless and in his shirtsleeves, stepped aside to let him past and then turned to close the door. Mioll's gaze swept his new surroundings and his breath hitched.
Not at the room, though, even if it sure was a nice one. Basically similar to the other rooms in the castle, it was simple but comfortable, with a fireplace in the middle and a few trunks and benches underneath the colorful rugs and tapestries that hung on the walls. The scene was dominated by a large four-poster bed, with heavy curtains that could be drawn closed to offer additional privacy to the occupants of said bed.
No, the room itself was comfortable but nothing he wouldn't have seen before. Nor was it the warm, nice-smelling air inside that took his breath away. Mioll's eyes were irresistibly drawn to the bed on his left, and he barely managed to stop himself from licking his lips.
Count Daynar was sprawled on the bed, face buried between loosely folded arms, looking supremely relaxed and delicious in the warm glow of the fireplace. As far as Mioll could see, he also looked supremely naked. Somewhat rumpled blankets hid his long legs, but at least the upper body and the curve of well-formed buttocks were completely bare.
The man peered over his shoulder, heavy-lidded eyes twinkling, and rested his cheek on the back of crossed wrists. His large mouth pulled into a smile.
"So you decided to take our offer, minstrel Mioll? I'm delighted."
"Sir Count, I ought to be more than a little ashamed of myself if I didn't have enough adventure in me to take it," Mioll replied boldly and heard a low chuckle.
"I was counting on it. Come on, sit down." Count Daynar patted the bed. "I won't bite. That is, not yet."
Mioll went closer to the bed, feeling the heady, expectant rush of blood in his veins and particularly in his crotch, then glanced almost apprehensively at Sorel. The tall Belter had come to stand next to him and Mioll noticed with appreciation that his half-open shirt revealed a promising expanse of muscled chest, and that the man had something in his hand.
"I was just about to rub his back." Sorel showed him a clay jar, still closed. "That bruise takes a hell of a long time to heal."
Mioll's healer instincts promptly kicked in. "May I, sir?"
"By all means."
Mioll discarded his sleeveless tunic – the room was indeed nicely warm, and the knee-length garment would only be in the way – and went to the other side of the bed. He grimaced as he saw Count Daynar's left side, then crawled closer to the man who was lying in the middle of the bed, to have a better look.
The battle was already a good while back, but the area was stubbornly discolored and slightly swollen. Mioll ran his fingers gently across it and heard the Count's breath hiss through clenched teeth. Just as he'd thought, it felt somewhat hard to touch; deep muscle damage, obviously. He persuaded the lid of the jar open and wrinkled his nose at the pungent smell that wafted from it. Potent stuff, but the Wizard knew his job all right.
"Looks like this'll take a while more," he observed, scooped some thick ointment from the jar and began to gently rub it in. "It definitely needs rubbing so that this hardness melts away, but nothing too heavy-handed."
Daynar's body shook with laughter under Mioll's hands. "Mmm... yes, when things get hard, a little rubbing usually helps."
Mioll rolled his eyes with a chuckle. "Indeed, sir Count, I'm sure you're well aware of that! Let me assure you that the same also applies to injured muscles, such as these in your back, and in either case, what's hard mustn't be handled too roughly."
He let his palms glide gently over the injury in large circles, feeling how the warming ointment made his skin tingle, and happily let them stray also outside the area under treatment. The toned body sprawled before him flexed in a most gratifying way in response to his touch, and Mioll sighed in satisfaction. The contours of muscles, the bone underneath, here and there the lumps of various scars – good gods but the man was handsome...
His breath caught momentarily when the bed dipped behind him and a warmth pressed closer, as if to peer over his shoulder.
"Mmm..." Sorel nuzzled his face into Mioll's hair, pushed his fingers into it, weighed it in his hand. "I like this. Too bad it'll be a complete mess in the morning."
"Oh, don't worry about that." Mioll leaned back into the strong embrace and rubbed his head against the man's shoulder, then gasped when deft hands pushed up the long hem of his shirt and began to expertly undo the strings that held his hose together. "I know how to use a comb – ahh..."
He felt Daynar crawl to the side but had no time to mourn the loss of contact with one muscled body when another one, slimmer and more dressed but equally trim, suddenly wrestled him underneath, face down across the bed. Sorel had the advantage of surprise, his hands and lips seemed to be damn near everywhere at once, but Mioll didn't take long to catch up with the situation. He squirmed under the body pinning him down, ground his butt eagerly up into the hard ridge of flesh that he could feel clearly through coarse cloth, then reached blindly behind his back with one hand and grabbed a fistful of curly hair.
Mioll wanted a kiss, a deep sloppy kiss, but the lips and teeth clamped to the base of his neck didn't want to move, so he yanked Sorel by the hair to make him turn his head. Sorel obliged, but the intended kiss very nearly turned into a bite because at the same moment his hand snaked to Mioll's crotch and touched overheated flesh for the first time. Mioll groaned aloud for sheer pleasure. Damn, but the man had clever fingers... they twirled in a particularly tantalizing way around his balls and Mioll's eyes flew wide open. Instantly he realized that that had been a big mistake, because the sight that registered in his lust-hazed brain made him forget to breathe altogether.
Daynar had indeed made way to them and was now lying on his side and watching them, leaning on one elbow, the other hand slowly and steadily stroking his fully erect cock.
Mioll swallowed thickly. He wanted to moan at the mere sight, the problem was just that he'd momentarily forgotten how to. A playful squeeze of his throbbing dick caused a minor starburst before his eyes, but it also made him gasp some air in once again.
"He's gorgeous, isn't he?" Sorel purred into his ear.
"Yeah," Mioll agreed with difficulty.
"Knows it pretty damn well, too," Sorel continued, voice bubbling laughter.
Daynar smirked. "Maybe you shouldn't keep telling it to me all the damn time, Angel mine... Now, Mioll, you're our guest. What would you like to do? Just tell us. We've got all night, and if one night isn't enough – well, you won't be leaving tomorrow."
Mioll tried desperately to get his breathing back under control enough to say something, but no words came out. He was so hard in Sorel's hand that it almost hurt, and he just couldn't tear his gaze away from the thick shaft in front of him, or the lazy, deliberate motion of Daynar's hand on it, or the droplet glistening at the tip. He wanted to taste, he wanted it inside, he wanted – everything. Everything at once. And shame on him, but he just couldn't choose.
The weight on top of him eased slightly. Mioll growled in protest, arching his back to maintain contact, but Sorel just chuckled and licked his ear.
"I like this thing," the Belter husked, hand tugging Mioll's cock. "I'd rather like to feel it inside me."
Mioll managed to turn his head enough to level an astonished glance at Sorel, but all he saw was an anticipatory smirk. "You serious?"
"Come on," Sorel drawled, "don't try to tell me you haven't ever fucked anyone before!"
"Sure I have!" Mioll managed to wiggle around, then swore in Donyan and somehow struggled out of the crumpled shirt that was all the time trying to stop him from moving his arms properly. "Never a Revnashi, though!"
"You still won't." Sorel laughed, not resisting when a suddenly very determined Mioll pushed him on his back on the bed and attacked his remaining clothing. "You'll be doing a Belter."
"Is there a difference?" Mioll growled and tossed away the man's shirt that he'd managed to remove in record time, totally absorbed by the sleek lines of the torso revealed underneath.
"If you ask me, yeah." Sorel obligingly kicked his breeches off. "Now, that there, that's a Revnashi."
Without thinking, Mioll turned his head in response to the lazily pointing hand, then tried not to choke. Broad chest with a dusting of nearly black hair... well defined stomach muscles rippling... that big cock jutting from its nest of equally dark curls, and the hand slowly moving on it...
"Point taken," he managed.
Sorel chuckled again, arms and legs wrapping around Mioll, and pulled him into a deep kiss. The minstrel responded eagerly and for a while they just kissed and licked and tasted each other, felt out how their bodies fit together, ground hips and thighs and crotches together, and every now and then spat long ash-blond hairs from their mouths. Mioll couldn't remember when he'd last been this hard, this aching and needy and yet wanting to draw things out. He closed his eyes as he snuggled closer to taste Sorel's neck just behind the ear. The Belter groaned and shivered, and Mioll grinned mischievously. That was clearly a sensitive spot.
This was a wholly new experience, so unlike sex with his own countrymen. They might be generally lean and tough and wiry from their long journeys, and they knew what they liked all right. Only the youngsters fresh from the coast still retained some of the baby softness in them, until it wore off over endless miles across rough terrain. But these men were something so different. Big-boned and heavy, with a strong build and massive muscles, large hands and broad shoulders, they were like big, just barely tamed animals. They fascinated Mioll, made him feel rather small and roused his curiosity – and lust – like nothing else.
Mioll was about to protest vocally when Sorel squirmed around, then realized what the man was doing. He smirked. If Sorel wanted it from behind, Mioll would gladly do it from behind... and preferably very soon, for he was so goddamn hard that every motion, every brush of flesh on flesh made him see stars. He raised his hips as Sorel maneuvered a pillow under his hips and settled more comfortably on it, then spat into his hand and wiggled it to Sorel's ass.
The man bucked greedily when Mioll let his finger rim the hole, probed in, added more spit and precome, slid it deeper. Sorel shuddered.
"Come on," he moaned.
The tight heat felt absolutely incredible. Mioll screwed his eyes shut and pushed slowly deeper, listened to Sorel's rhythmical breathing, swore under his breath. "Good?"
"Yeah..." Sorel's fingers curled around a handful of blanket and he rubbed his face into Mioll's hair that pooled on the pillow next to his face. Mioll grunted and thrust deeper – he just couldn't hold back any more, he had to move. "No – wait."
Mioll froze, was about to ask if he was hurting Sorel, then swallowed when he realized that something big and warm had somehow materialized right behind him. Large hands descended on his ass, warm and oddly slippery, then a thumb slid slowly down the crack and massaged the globes so softly that Mioll bit back a groan. He wanted to push back into the touch, except that it would've meant pulling out of Sorel who right then rolled his hips teasingly. This time Mioll couldn't swallow the sound, something between a grunt and a whimper, that escaped from his throat. The answering chuckle, deep and velvety, made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.
A slick finger squirmed into him and was soon joined by another. Mioll panted, not only at the sensation but also at the picture that throbbed in his skull – he'd seen the thing for which he was being prepared... He let his body relax as much as he could, let it drape over Sorel's back, then dug his fingers into the man's shoulders when the big hands finally retreated to grab his hips and he felt the blunt nudge of Daynar's erection against his hole.
The man had truly superb self-control, Mioll thought indistinctly, savoring every moment as Daynar penetrated him, slow and steady, breath hissing with effort. And then he was there, sandwiched between these two big hard bodies, buried to the hilt inside Sorel and cleaved in two by Daynar, unable to do anything but go along when Daynar rocked behind him, pulled a little out and thrust deeper. And again. And again.
Mioll's breath was coming in rough gasps, he opened his eyes and shook his head so that shaggy tresses fell over his shoulders onto Sorel's sticky, bronzed skin. Muscles rippled under it, Mioll bowed lower and let his tongue lap a bead of sweat from it, and then yet another long, measured shove wrung a low groan from him. "Unhhh... more..."
"Yes," Daynar echoed into his ear.
Mioll clung to Sorel, tried not to cry out as Daynar fucked him slowly and thoroughly, driving his shaft deeper into Sorel who was sprawled underneath them both, and Mioll wondered how much more he could take before the sensations got just too much and he'd pass out. The same obviously applied to Sorel; the Belter's face was buried in the pillow under sweaty blond curls, but Mioll could see that his mouth was open in an expression of bliss so intense that it was close to agony, hands rhythmically fisting the crumpled sheets. "Day... nar... I can't – oh –"
Mioll came first, fingers digging into Sorel's skin for purchase, felt Daynar freeze as well, and just about blacked out.
For a good while Mioll was blissfully unaware of his rather cramped position in the huge, sweaty tangle of flesh that the three of them made. He blinked his eyes open when Daynar stirred with a groan and pushed himself up on very trembling arms. For a moment the Count just panted there, braced above his two partners so as not to crush them under his considerable weight, then pulled gently out and rolled to his back on the bed.
Mioll sighed in wonder and crawled into Daynar's waiting arms. Sorel wriggled into a more comfortable position as well, then snuggled closer so that Mioll was cradled between the two big men. The minstrel chuckled contentedly, then something struck him and his eyes opened wide.
He stared incredulously at Daynar. Had he just heard what he thought he had heard? Surely it wasn't possible!
"You!" He poked the dark-haired chest with his finger. "How the hell is it possible that you speak our language?"
"Slow, Mioll, slow!" Daynar grinned, still speaking Donyan, then switched into Revnashi. "What did you say?"
"How can you speak the minstrel language?" Mioll repeated, this time in Revnashi. "Who has taught you?"
"I only know a few words." Daynar stretched his arms, obviously smug and satisfied by the surprise effect. "Things like 'do you feel good', 'harder', 'wonderful'..."
"Yes, and 'oh yes that's it'," Sorel continued, repeating the words and phrases with accented but correct Donyan. Mioll panted for a while and then burst into laughter.
"I guess I'm not the first minstrel who has enjoyed your company in private like this?" he said, just a touch ruefully.
"No, we've got to admit you aren't," Daynar muttered, lips searching Mioll's for a lingering kiss. "But you're definitely the most gorgeous one."
"I agree," Sorel chimed in and nuzzled Mioll's neck so that the minstrel shivered with pleasure. "Definitely the most gorgeous one. Will you teach us more words in your language?"
Mioll tried to press against both men at the same time, then grunted in displeasure when it didn't quite succeed. Sorel obligingly shifted a little closer and wrapped an arm around both of his bedmates, then leaned over Mioll to exchange a long, deep kiss with Daynar. The minstrel watched them closely, and when they finally disengaged from the liplock, he sighed.
"I'll be happy to teach you more," he said. "What would you like to learn?"