That hazel gaze remained fixated on Hamish, even as continued pleasure glazed the outer edges. Darshan held out his hand imploringly.
Hamish crept closer, gasping as his lover latched onto his wrist. Rather than the expected guide of where his fingers should touch, Darshan pressed his lips to Hamish’s knuckles.
Nuzzling his palm, his lover’s hand slunk up Hamish’s arm to settle behind his neck. The gentle pressure of those fingers at the nape coaxed Hamish closer still until he practically lay stretched out atop the man. Darshan sighed as he placed a chaste kiss on Hamish’s nose.
Words tumbled out his lover’s mouth, a whisper that could barely be heard above their breaths. It carried a tangled air of promise and hushed desire.
Hamish desperately wished he knew what any of it meant. “You’ve nae taught me a word of your language, you ken.”
Smiling blissfully, Darshan smoothed back a stray coil of Hamish’s hair. “I imagined you, you know.” He took up Hamish’s hand and guided it down to the toy, wrapping their fingers around the base. He moaned as, together, they resumed his previous motion. His breath grew fast and hoarse like a stag in autumn.
The heat in Hamish’s cheeks grew with each sound. “Imagined me?” he mumbled.
“Taking me just like this,” his lover panted, releasing Hamish’s fingers to leave all movement of the toy entirely up to him.
Hamish continued in a similar motion, keeping the rhythm steady even when Darshan’s hips started to move along with him.
More words poured from the man, obscene even without translation. Hamish took that as the cue to take matters into his own hands. He grasped Darshan’s length, working it in tandem with the toy, to the surprised gasp of his lover.
With his mind still fixed on Darshan’s panting figure, Hamish continued to stroke himself. Slow at first, then faster as the man in his thoughts neared the end of their time together, his lover bucking and cursing in what Hamish suspected had been several languages.
In the darkness of his room, his breath rasped loud in his ears. Between the memory and his hand, the edge didn’t sit far from reach. Once he was spent, he laid still upon his bed whilst waiting for the furious pounding of his heart to slow.
Three heavy thumps connected with the door.
Hamish launched himself upright in the middle of the bed. His heart hammered anew, fear driving each quivering beat. He sat there like a cornered mouse, staring at the door, waiting for someone to throw it open and find him with a hand still down his smalls.
Who wanted him at this early time? Not the guards, for they would burst in with nary a care. Nor would Darshan be lingering on the other side. He doubted the man would bother with knocking, either. His brother? It couldn’t be time to saddle the horses yet, could it?
When no one immediately burst through the entrance, he slunk off the bed and padded across the room. Opening the door revealed only the trio of guards. Two of them eyed him with their usual disdain until Ranulf cleared his throat.
“I thought I heard a knock,” Hamish mumbled. Was he that far gone to be hearing things now?
“Your brother,” replied the swordsman who Hamish still hadn’t caught the name of. “Prince Gordon, your highness,” he added as if Hamish had somehow forgotten the name of his sibling. “That is… I meant to say, the knocking was his doing. Said a few bangs would be enough to wake you. Also said to let you ken the guards are readying the horses for your journey.”
Nodding and thanking the man, Hamish closed the door and set about his usual morning routine, bemoaning the lack of a fire in the hearth and some warm water to bathe in. Still, nothing chased any residuals of sleep from the brain like freezing water on the essentials.
He had gotten quite good at finding most of the items in the dark, too. His personal pack of clothes and other travelling effects were already packed and waiting, leaving him with only the need to don his warmest clothing and be off.
Except there was one thing he hadn’t done earlier…
Scooping up the box from the bed, he tucked it into his private chest of effects. Unlike the rest of his quarters, only he possessed a key. If his mother sought to rummage through his belongings whilst he was gone—and he was in no doubt that she did just that—then the toy would be safe.
He twisted the ring, sliding it up and down the finger. Should he remove that, too? Seemed a bit late for it. The band was snug enough to hold no fear over casually losing it. Hamish shook his head. If anything was likely to go missing, it was the ring. The safest place for it would be on his person.
Fastening the lock and grabbing his pack of personal belongings, Hamish vacated his room. The sun had yet to crest the horizon and warm the skies, which meant the hallways were dark save for a few lanterns spaced out far enough for the servants to see without wasting fuel.
His breath misted in the early morning air as he strode into the stables and fell into the familiar routine of gearing his mare. Around him, the guards and his brother did the same to the other horses. Although the travelling preparations were adequately lit by storm lanterns, their heat was nonexistent.
A cursory glance at the men revealed them to be the same three Gordon favoured for the journey; Sean, Zurron and Quinn. Good. Sean wouldn’t bat an eye if Darshan chose to be less than discreet about his affections. Quinn might make a few course jokes but, being the youngest of them all, he’d be even less of a bother. And Zurron—
Hamish frowned. The pale-skinned man might be a bit of a prickly one given the
