Groaning, he rubbed at his temple. His head might not ache from that ghastly concoction Hamish had dared to call alcohol, but ridding the after-effects of such toxins taxed his healing magic. He never much liked the weak feeling that came over him from an excessive use of his power, but he hadn’t any control over the latent healing.
How much of the damn stuff had he drunk? He had lost track after the second tankard, but it’d certainly not been enough to forget how much of fool he had acted.
So much for subtle. What had he been thinking, kissing the man in public like that?
Chuckling, he flung an arm across his face. Who was he fooling? “You knew exactly what you were thinking,” he muttered. Get an answer. Yes or no, one way or the other, he had to know his chances.
But what a response.
Even if Queen Fiona hadn’t blown the entire scenario all out of proportion, he would’ve known the truth. He had kissed men who weren’t as interested in him as they’d claimed. They didn’t lean into his kiss like Hamish had, and certainly didn’t flash him hot eyes afterwards.
It didn’t help that he used to have wet dreams about strong and gentle men like Hamish. The untamed but docile sort. Tall, rugged and hairy men just didn’t seem to exist back home. He hadn’t truly believed they existed at all until reaching Tirglas.
Grunting, he rolled onto his side to glare at the stark grey stone wall. It wasn’t fair. Sending him to this dismal place where men couldn’t enjoy themselves with a chaste kiss.
And to do anything a little more physical?
His thoughts were more than willing to spiral into knowingly forbidden depths. It already had a fair approximation, but what he wouldn’t give to know more…
He slid his hand down, taking a firm hold of himself. It’d been a long time since he had done anything as tame as use his hand on its own, but he’d been ruthlessly denied any of his usual toys. Being sent to Tirglas was meant to be his punishment after all.
Closing his eyes, he furiously moved his hand. Imagining it was a certain delicious redhead took some effort. Hamish’s hands were bigger—he recalled that much from their first meeting—calloused from years at archery.
A small moan eked through his lips. It wasn’t enough. Imagery could only get him so far.
If he had but one of his toys to—
Darshan bolted upright. Surely one must have made its way past keen eyes and aboard the ship. He jumped to his feet to rummage through his travelling chest, desperate. He had spent months aboard that wretched ship, surrounded by women and with nothing better to idle away the days than to learn of this stodgy kingdom.
Anything would do.
Yes! Buried at the very bottom was a small wooden box, still wrapped in one of his drawers. Disturbing the toy inside revealed a small vial of oil tucked into the velvet cushioning. The toy itself wasn’t much to look at; reputably modelled on the average man back home and curved just slightly to hit the right spot. It couldn’t replace an actual hot, flesh-and-blood being, but it would do for now.
His hands shook as he hastily applied the oil, spilling some onto the dark wood floor. Then he was back on the bed, no longer lamenting the mattress’ lack of give as he lowered himself onto the toy. A soft grunt wisped out his nose at the slight burn as eagerness overtook his usual care. He worked through the feeling, which quickly faded thanks to his innate healing abilities.
If he were home, alone and with no desire to seek out company, he would’ve settled down to a little reading be it a saucy story or some naughty poetry. The kind that’d make prostitutes blush. But those had all been confiscated along with the rest of his toys.
He tipped back, squirming ever so slightly across the blankets. Arching on the bed, he slipped one hand beneath him. His fingertip touched the smooth metal disc nestled in the toy’s base, pushing the final inch in.
Steadying his breath, he sent a small pulse through the metal. A tiny amount would be all he’d need at this point.
The toy vibrated deep inside him, amplified by the metal core, slowly fading and eking out a shuddering groan from his lips. Another pulse, longer, just enough to let the vibration build, to push him that little bit higher.
He turned his thoughts towards Hamish. Maybe he wasn’t allowed to touch, but he could certainly imagine. He ground his rear on the bed, convincing himself it was that delicious hulk of a man who was currently in him. A soft moan slipped from his lips, his imagination easily conjuring up visions.
His finger on the toy slipped. Darshan hastened to readjust, grinding against it. With his free hand, he grasped himself and stroked, each movement trembling. He sent a fresh burst through the toy, a spark of lightning this time. The buzz it set off had his hips bucking.
There was no chance of lasting after that.
He lay still, unable to do more than tremble and pant as the residual magic in the toy petered out. Wow. He hadn’t reacted so strongly to one in quite some time. Perhaps there was some merit in that denial theory some of the scholars back home preached about.
This wouldn’t rid himself of the dreams, though. No more than it had in the past. But it had taken the edge off. It might even let his mind think clearly on other matters after his heart stopped pounding through his temples like an ancient dwarven war drum.
A timid rap on the door broke through his reverie.
He stared at the door handle for several thundering heartbeats, his chest heaving. Had he actually thought to lock the door last night? Or was the servant just too polite? Either way, he didn’t think he had the
