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simeon_josueJosué was hard and hot in his hand. Simeon had more than enough experience touching himself, but none touching another. The angle was strange, the size and heft of it different to his own. Clumsily, he began stroking Josué, any misgivings he might have had about giving Josué what he wanted swept away by the need hat still burned inside him.
The release he’d found at Josué’s touch hadn’t been enough to quench the burn. The first hour with the ginger had been unbearable; after that, the fire inside him had dulled into a steady, relentless burn—bearable, perhaps, but maddening. Every shift in position, every involuntary clenching of his body around the root had set arrows of sharp fire through him until he would have done anything at all to have someone touch him.
Now, with the ginger gone, all that remained was the tingling heat within him and the memory of how good Josué’s fingers had felt inside him.
“Slowly,” Josué said, half-laughing, half-gasping when Simeon’s hand hastily slid up and down his cock. “You’re so eager.”
Mournfully, Simeon allowed himself one last thought of Philippe’s eyes gleaming in the light of the fire and of what might have been. Then he pushed those thoughts away and pressed himself against Josué.
“Do it,” he said breathlessly. He could barely keep from squirming. “Fuck me.”
It was what Josué had always wanted, despite his grandiose declarations to the contrary. Or maybe he hadn’t lied—maybe he’d wanted Simeon like this, eager for it, needing it more than he needed to breathe.
In either case, Simeon was willing to surrender now. He should have done it from the start. Things might have been easier—they would have both known where they stood. And once Josué had what he wanted, he’d no longer have a reason to torment him.
Simeon didn’t have to look up to know that Josué was smiling. The already rapid pattern of his breathing quickened, and he pushed eagerly into the grasp of Simeon’s fingers.
“You want it, don’t you?” he said, managing to sound smug and self-satisfied even in the throes of passion.
“You know I do.” Simeon groaned as his cock slid along Josué’s thigh. He wondered for a moment if he’d lost his mind—giving in to Josué felt as if he was signing away something important, something irretrievable. Not just his body, but his will—his soul.
But that was nonsense. A man couldn’t possess another man’s soul. And Josué was only interested in Simeon’s body and what it could do for him. No free will or independent thought required.
“The middle of the day,” Josué murmured. “How scandalous.” But he was smiling as he said it, and then moaned when Simeon did something right, so Simeon did it again, circling his thumb against the underside of his cock. This time Josué sounded less smug when he spoke again.
“Enough of that. At least if you want me to make it to the bed. And I want you in a bed now.”
After the hours Simeon had spent straining in his chains, helplessly aroused and aching until he’d thought he’d go mad with it, walking was more difficult than it should be. Simeon’s limbs felt weak and shaky. Still, the bed wasn’t far, and Josué was starting to look as desperate as he did.
It was a small consolation, but Simeon would take it. He knew he couldn’t expect anything else.
Gratefully, he collapsed onto the bed as soon as they reached it, groaning when his smarting backside made contact with the sheets. He wriggled around onto his stomach, groaning again at the friction of his cock against the cool linen. When he looked up, he found Josué half undressed, his eyes focused on him with such hungry intensity that Simeon reeled as if he’d been struck.
He wanted Josué.
He swallowed at the shameful truth, even now when he found himself face to face with Josué’s cock, hard with hunger for him. He’d spent so long denying it, but it was too late to keep lying to himself. Hadn’t he found release more than once at Josué’s hands?
He’d wanted Philippe to fuck him, too. There was another truth he’d spent long years carefully not thinking about.
He’d been young and stupid then. He’d never had more than that one night by the fire, the distant memory of the heat of Philippe’s touch and his dreams of what might have been. But what might have been was this: Philippe fucking him the way he was about to be fucked. And Philippe was dead. So why shouldn’t Josué have him?
Perhaps, when all of this was over, when he’d managed to escape and found a place to hide, at least he’d be able to imagine what it would have been like with Philippe.
“It’s going to hurt,” Josué said. He lightly ran a hand over Simeon’s smarting buttocks when he joined him on the bed, and Simeon flinched. “This wasn’t the best of days to misbehave. But you already know that, don’t you?”
Simeon closed his eyes and pressed his face into the sheets. “Shut up and do it,” he said, his face as hot as his ass.
He still ached—the ginger might be gone, but his body was still tingling, a constant, distracting itch inside that made him squirm with need just to feel the pressure of Josué’s fingers again.
Josué chuckled. “Mind your manners. I could make you beg for it again.”
“Just do it.” Simeon arched helplessly, his hands digging into the sheets as he arched his back.
There was a moment of silence, then a breathless exhalation. “I could get used to this view.”
Josué’s hands against the insides of his thighs made him spread his legs wide. This time, Josué’s touch came as a relief.
Simeon only barely kept from pushing back into his touch when Josué’s finger teased at his entrance, and Josué made an appreciative sound at his eagerness.
“Yes. That’s more like it.”
He sounded breathless. It seemed Simeon wasn’t the only one who was eager for it, but he refrained from pointing that out.
Josué drew back for a moment, and Simeon dug his fingers hard into the sheets to keep from pleading with him to come back. A moment later, Josué returned, his finger slickened so that it slid into Simeon easily. The sensation made him arch his back, push back for more—but already Josué was pulling out of him again, the maddening, tingling heat inside him leaving him frantic.
“Here. This is what you want.”
Simeon swallowed when something much larger pressed against him. Josué’s arousal, hot and as slick as his finger had been. Josué might have fixated on the size of Simeon’s cock, but now that Josué pressed against him, he felt impossibly large himself. Surely it couldn’t fit. There was no way—
But the oil he must have used made it easy, even when Simeon’s body wasn’t entirely certain it was possible. Josué pressed against him and sunk inside, pushing deeper even when Simeon instinctively clenched around him, the burn different from the ginger that had tormented him for the past few hours.
Distantly, Simeon could hear the sound of his own panting breath. He stared down at the pristine sheets, felt his thighs tremble, felt the penetration—something so hard and large and foreign pressing even deeper. And then Josué cock rubbed against the spot that made Simeon’s back arch again, a moan spilling from his lips while he tried to understand what was happening to him.
Josué pulled out a little, pushed back inside, and this time the ache of being stretched open so wide was nothing against the sparks of heat his movements caused.
Simeon could still hear himself panting, could hear his helpless moan, and this time, when he pushed back in a demand for more, Josué indulged him. His next thrust filled him all the way. This time there was pain, too, as Josué had warned him there’d be, Josué so deep his hips pressed against his well-punished buttocks.
“I told you you’d like this.” Josué’s voice was rough, as if he was finding it hard to speak. “I knew.”
He bent forward until Simeon could feel his hot breath against his nape, his arm reaching around to grab Simeon’s cock. Josué’s grip was tight and demanding, the dual stimulation almost too much to bear. Simeon could hear himself cry out, gasping for breath as his body rocked back and forth, torn between the need to thrust into Josué’s rough grip or push back to feel him deeper inside.
It took only a few moments during which his body seemed to develop a mind of its own, the torment more agonizing, more pleasurable than anything he’d ever known in his life—and then he came in a hot rush all over Josué’s hand, clenching around his cock as if he wanted to keep him there deep inside forever.
Simeon could hear his own breathing, loud and labored. Even now, in the aftermath of pleasure, his body was still alive. The intensity of feeling Josué inside him was so overwhelming that he moaned when what he really wanted was to hide his face against the sheets in shame.
But Josué didn't let up, chasing his own pleasure with thrust after thrust all the way inside him until Simeon could feel his body pulse helplessly around Josué, every motion sending ripples of sensation through him.
Josué didn't last much longer. New heat rushed to Simeon's face at the sensation: Josué pressed against him all the way until Simeon’s reddened buttocks ached at the friction, the sudden wet heat inside him, Josué's moan, breathed low and satisfied against his nape. The vibrations of it sent off new sparks of what should be disgust and yet wasn't.
Simeon closed his eyes when Josué at last slid out of him. He could feel the wetness of Josué’s release drip down his thigh. His body felt well-used, stretched and aching and no longer his.
And that was what Josué had wanted, wasn't it? He’d wanted Simeon to finally realize that his fate rested in Josué's hands and that his body was no more than a toy.
Josué had played him well. Even now, Simeon could feel the aftershocks of a pleasure he was entirely unused to. The maddening, tingling heat of the ginger inside him had mostly dissipated--but what was left was the shock of Josué's touch, how he'd overwhelmed him, and how much Simeon had wanted him to.
Never again would he be able to forget the truth of it. Which must have been exactly what Josué wanted.
Josué collapsed next to him with a pleased sound.
"Better?" he said, slinging an amicable arm around his waist. "I told you I'd make it good for you. But if you want, you can keep pretending that you hate it."
Simeon breathed, slow and deep, thinking of Philippe's eyes again, the way they'd gleamed in the light of the fire so long ago. Then he forced his aching body to turn.
Josué was very close. His face was relaxed, eyes heavy and dark with pleasure.
Simeon had thought he'd be able to hold on to his memories of Philippe, but the truth was that as he'd arched helplessly in Josué's bed, all he'd seen was Josué. All he'd known was his touch and the scent of his skin and his sweat, and how desperately he'd wanted it.
"What good is that?" he asked. He felt absurdly proud that his voice didn't shake. "You heard me beg for it."
"I felt your body beg for it, too," Josué said with that smug satisfaction that made Simeon bristle.
Then Josué reached out, nonchalantly running his fingers over Simeon's spent cock. Simeon gasped again, so sensitive now that even this touch made him shiver.
"Twice," Josué said, undisguised pride in his voice. "Like I said. Very flattering."
"After you tormented me for hours. Anyone would have--"
The protest sounded weak even in his own ears. Josué at least did him the courtesy not to laugh.
“This was a pleasant surprise after the day I’ve had. I knew you’d be too smart to keep pretending you can’t see sense.”
It was immensely difficult to meet Josué’s smug gaze when Simeon still had Josué’s warm release dripping down his thighs, his body sore and exhausted and feeling subtly changed.
“You seem to have a high opinion of me,” Simeon said. “You don’t even know what you want from me.”
Arguing with Josué wouldn’t help him either, but after what had just happened, it was impossible not to push back a little.
He was still himself. Josué might have had what he wanted—what Philippe had never had—but Simeon was still who he’d always been. And he still had his plan.
“I told you what I want from you.” Josué trailed his hand up Simeon’s stomach, making him shiver. “Don’t get me wrong, this is very nice. But I want you to be who I know you can be. Not a deserter who doesn’t deserve the chance he’s been granted. I want you to be our guide, leading us through these mountains, offering up all your knowledge willingly—not to save your life but because it is your duty. There’s such a thing as honor, you know. Loyalty. Love for the country that—”
“Love for the emperor who’s swept across our lands the way he has devoured most of the continent?” Simeon said bitterly. “Is that truly what you feel? Love? Loyalty? For a man who doesn’t even speak our language and thinks he can rule us?”
“Don’t be a fool,” Josué said impatiently, “of course he knows Nabonnese. They all do, at court. What really matters is that the emperor’s a soldier. He’s a man like me. He knows what battle is like. I respect that, and so does any man here. It’s easy to feel loyalty to a man who rewards merit, not the name of your family.”
Simeon looked away, still keenly aware of the warmth of Josué’s hand slowly drawing circles on his chest. Simeon considered shaking him off, but couldn’t make himself do it. The day had been too long already. The last thing he needed was another fight with Josué. Let him enjoy his triumph.
“But this isn’t the time for philosophy,” Josué said at last, and as if on command, Bibeau entered.
Simeon realized with sudden mortification that they were both naked, and that it had to be all too obvious what had just come to pass. How long had Bibeau been waiting outside the tent? Had he seen—and if not, then he certainly would have heard...
Simeon hastily pulled the blanket against himself when Josué rose, unashamed of his nakedness. Josué went to his wash basin and began to unhurriedly clean himself while Bibeau set his table and poured him some wine.
“There’s a fine trout for you today, sir,” he said cheerfully. “Took some finessing to hold it back for you.”
Josué pulled on a clean shirt. “Sounds promising, Bibeau.”
With a nod, he sent him hurrying off to fetch the promised meal, then continued dressing. At last, he sat down on the bed by Simeon’s side, pulling the blanket off him, eyes gleaming with deep satisfaction as they trailed down Simeon’s chest to linger on his soft cock. Simeon’s hands twitched, but he fought the urge to reach out for the blanket.
“I’ve had a long, hard journey up into the mountains with your friend.” Josué ran his hand gently up Simeon’s thigh. “I’m tired and hungry. And I’d like company. Do you think you can do that now?”
Simeon tensed beneath his touch, then forced himself to relax. Wasn’t this what he’d wanted?
“Yes,” he said quietly. “I can.”
When Bibeau came rushing into the tent mere minutes later, he seemed surprised to see Simeon sitting by Josué’s side, clad in a clean shirt and with a pillow beneath him.
Simeon squirmed. The pillow helped, but his bruised bottom ached regardless. He wouldn’t be able to forget the belt’s lesson for another day or two.
Bibeau gave him an arch look as if to say, You’ve really done it now. Within a few more minutes, they were dining on bread and cheese and half a cold chicken. Shortly after that, Bibeau returned with the promised trout, grilled to perfection.
Simeon couldn’t quite say how he’d imagined Josué to react—smug and triumphant, perhaps. And there was a bit of smugness in his smile even now, but not more than usual. Mostly, Josué seemed relaxed and utterly at ease with the fact that he had Simeon sitting at his table, providing him company, when Simeon had spent most of his time in this tent naked and in chains.
Josué held out a glass of wine. “I had a first true look at these mountains of yours today.” He gestured into the direction vaguely behind Simeon’s head. “Your friend took me up onto one of those peaks—we crossed a ridge, and in the valley below, we could see a lake.”
Simeon nodded. There were many peaks, and many lakes, but not so many that could be reached in a few hours from the camp, offering a first glimpse of what was to come.
“I know the peak,” he said.
“What do you think? A good choice? Was today a suitable preparation?”
Simeon smiled wryly. “You have not fought in the mountains before?”
Josué shook his head. “The colonel has, of course. They say he scaled a glacier once to take the enemy from behind and turn their own cannons on them. Now that’s a man all of us would follow straight into hell—and ride out alive with him at our front, too, no doubt.”
“Then I hope he knows what he’s doing,” Simeon said. “It’s possible. Of course it’s possible. The passes are open. You won’t scale any glaciers. You will have to dismount for a good part of the journey, and you already know you won’t be able to take your own horses into Gabrada. But it’s possible.”
Josué’s smiled widened, and he leaned back in his chair.
“If the weather doesn’t turn on us,” Simeon continued relentlessly. “The weather changes fast in the mountains. Much faster than you are used to. Sometimes you begin the ascent in bright sunlight, and by the time you’re halfway up a mountain, a storm is upon you, the clouds are so heavy you can barely see your own hands in front of you, and it’s turned freezing cold. If you have an experienced guide, he might have caught the early warning signs. But even an experienced man can be surprised by the weather. A small group of men you can find shelter for. But there are too many of you.”
Josué exhaled, displeased, but still watching Simeon intently.
“We’ll have the ponies and mules,” he said. “Equipment.”
“Our ponies and mules will freeze in a snowstorm just like your men,” Simeon said. “Unless you find shelter for all of them.”
“So it’s dangerous. We knew that.”
“As long as you’re aware of it.”
Josué shrugged, as if to say, I’ve dealt with worse odds. And possibly he had. Simeon had little idea of where Josué’s career had taken him after Simeon had escaped the horror of war.
But no matter how experienced Josué was in the field, he had no experience of the mountains, and that was the only thing that counted here.
“Perhaps we’ll find a way to keep warm,” Josué said, eyes hot and amused as he took another sip of wine.
The wine was good—dark red, rich and warm in his mouth, with the wood of oak and the tang of ripe summer fruit. A good vintage. Even Simeon could tell, who’d had nothing but the local beer and cider for many years.
He took another swallow, watching Josué, trying to figure out what his plan was. Was this a reward for how well Simeon had behaved in his bed? Or had Josué spoken the truth? Was he merely tired after a long day and in need of company?
Perhaps both was true. He seemed subtly changed. The mountains could do that to a man.
Perhaps Josué was the sort of man who couldn’t bear heights—though surely he would have known before volunteering for such a mission. Perhaps it was as he’d said and a first glance at the mountains rising before him had taught him that the enemy they were about to meet was cold and impersonal—an enemy no weapon could prevail against. An enemy that had taken countless lives and would continue to so. The mountains demanded their tribute from every man who dared to cross the mountains without enough preparation, and from many who knew their way around, too.
“Tell me about the mountains,” Josué said. “Why this place? And for so long?”
Simeon shifted uncomfortably on his pillow, more embarrassed by the lingering ache of having felt Josué inside him than the welts of the belt. It was strange to talk to him like this, with Josué almost unguarded, mere moments after Josué had spilled himself inside his body, his moans still ringing in Simeon’s ears.
“It’s a good place,” Simeon said. “Good, honest people. Life’s hard in the mountains, but I was already used to that. Thought I could just as well starve up here and be free, blue sky above me.”
“But you didn’t starve.” Josué’s eyes lingered thoughtfully on Simeon. “Instead, you’re negotiating treaties with the emperor.”
Simeon shrugged, uncomfortable. “Winters are long and hard here. There’s not much to do. I learned to read, that first winter. Then I read.”
“That must have been quite some books.” Josué’s lips turned up in a slight smile. No doubt he was amused by the idea of someone like Simeon holding a book. “Perhaps I should have you read to me.”
“If that’s what you want.”
Simeon wasn’t quite sure what to make of Josué’s mood. Surely it was better than anger or suspicion? But a Josué who was so relaxed was strangely difficult to deal with.
Still, it was what he’d hoped to achieve, wasn’t it? A Josué who let down his guard would be easy to shake off in the mountains. And if he wanted Simeon to warm his bed during the journey, he might leave off the chains. Possessing Simeon’s body so intimately not only seemed to leave him in a good mood, but also convinced that he was utterly in control of Simeon, even without any chains on him.
“That’s not all I want,” Josué said, the corners of his mouth rising again, “but it’s a start.”
“What do you like to read then?”
Josué reached out and took hold of a small volume, bound in rather worn leather. Purchased from a second-hand dealer, or at least purchased so long ago that it had seen many battlefields.
“I might have you read this,” he said, eyes still hot as they looked Simeon up and down. “The shirt will have to go, of course.”
“Of course,” Simeon echoed, trying to keep from flushing.
“You can read to me while I bathe. Unless you’d rather bathe me instead?” Josué’s smile widened when Simeon instinctively shook his head.
“I can read to you.”
“Good. It was cold in the mountains, though I didn’t try to swim in any glacier pools.”
“I wouldn’t recommend the experience,” Simeon said, and Josué laughed softly.
“Not that I’m not grateful of what you did for me,” Simeon murmured, not quite able to meet Josué’s eyes when he remembered the warmth of his embrace.
Once Bibeau had brought in the tub and heated enough water, Josué began to undress.
"Come here," he said. "Sit close. And bring that book from my desk."
Simeon hastily moved towards the desk, closing his fingers around the book’s worn leather while behind him, he could hear the splashing of water. He hesitated for a moment to give Josué time to settle in the water.
When he at last turned around, he found Josué seated in the small tub, his chest gleaming wet and his legs spread apart so that Simeon could glimpse the outline of his cock in the warm water.
Simeon swallowed, holding the book tightly as he moved closer. With every step he was reminded of the sensation of Josué inside him. Although much of the discomfort had faded, he could still feel him--and he could feel the stripes Josué’s belt had raised on his buttocks, the welts throbbing gently every time he moved.
Carefully, Simeon sank to his knees next to the tub. He was still wearing the shirt, whereas Josué was the one who was naked for once, but it didn't make him feel any better. They both knew who was in power here after all.
After a moment, Simeon took a deep breath and pulled his shirt off.
Josué made an appreciative sound. Then he reached out. A wet finger wound around a curl of Simeon’s hair, tugging slightly.
"I like this," he said, then released Simeon and settled back into the water with a sigh. "Read."
Simeon opened the book. A Treatise on Military Equitation, the title page declared, and Simeon shook his head, not sure whether he was relieved or amused.
Simeon wasn’t surprised to find the pages as worn as the cover. Still, despite the book’s age, the pages were clean, free from stains or marks. It was what Simeon had expected—the possession of a man who didn't have much, and who'd treated all of his belongings as a luxury to be handled with great care.
How much had Josué paid for this book? Even old and worn as it was, it couldn't have been cheap on a soldier's pay. Or had he bought it later, when he'd received his first officer's commission? Was it the first purchase made by a man who had some coin to spare for the first time in his life?
Simeon frowned, annoyed at himself and the thoughts that had arisen so suddenly. He owed Josué nothing, least of all his sympathy. Josué might have saved him, and Simeon could be grateful for that--but it didn't mean that he'd forgive Josué for what he'd done. Josué wasn't the only one who knew what it was like to live with nothing. And no one had shown Philippe any compassion when he'd bled out in the dust at Simeon’s feet.
To distract himself from those thoughts, Simeon began to read.
“Correction is often necessary, but it should be well timed and given with temper, and one blow will often suffice; for the horse recollects his fault and consequent correction; if he repeats it, the correction must be repeated; but severe flogging continued for a long time will only enrage and frighten the animal without correcting his fault.”
Simeon looked up and found that Josué had relaxed further, sliding down as far into the warm water as was possible. His eyes were half-closed, his mouth relaxed, although now his lips twitched in amusement.
"Is that what you think you're doing?" Simeon said, thinking of the little mare again--and of how easily he'd given in.
"I'm not here to break in horses," Josué murmured, then sighed. "But I do like the sound of your voice."
Simeon exhaled, then leafed ahead, determined to find a passage that wouldn't lead to further smug remarks or memories of how quickly he'd yielded.
"I cannot help observing how few and trifling the instructions are, which most regiments give a young officer, who though he may have led the field with fox-hounds, and rode over turnpike gates in his native country, is in all probability totally unacquainted with the method of riding which is necessarily adopted in regiments of cavalry, and which must be adopted by every individual, for one bad rider will cause such confusion as totally to prevent a squadron from moving with regularity and precision," he read, determined to keep his eyes on the page when he heard the sound of gentle splashing and caught movement from the corner of his eye.
"Is that what you did?" he said sarcastically. "Led the field with fox-hounds in your youth?"
Despite himself, he slowly let the book sink and raised his head. Soap suds gleamed on Josué's chest, firmly muscled thighs spread to each side of the tub as he turned to eye Simeon.
"What do you think?" Josué asked, a corner of his mouth drawn up.
"Where did you learn how to ride?" Simeon asked in turn.
A moment too late he realized what he'd said. He'd been determined not to lower his guard even further than he already had, and he had no interest at all in learning about Josué's life. Josué had ruined his; that was all he needed to know.
Still, now that the thought had arisen in his mind, it was hard to let go of it. Josué was a good rider, but the skills demanded of an officer were not the sort a boy who'd perhaps sat on a farm horse in his childhood would possess. Had he spent his sparse free time as a sergeant with a riding master?
No, it was doubtful Josué would have had the coin for it. Was that why he'd bought the book? Had he thought he could acquire the skill from reading alone? And how had he come to be the man he was now, with obvious skill, from the pitiless sergeant Simeon had known ten years ago?
The release he’d found at Josué’s touch hadn’t been enough to quench the burn. The first hour with the ginger had been unbearable; after that, the fire inside him had dulled into a steady, relentless burn—bearable, perhaps, but maddening. Every shift in position, every involuntary clenching of his body around the root had set arrows of sharp fire through him until he would have done anything at all to have someone touch him.
Now, with the ginger gone, all that remained was the tingling heat within him and the memory of how good Josué’s fingers had felt inside him.
“Slowly,” Josué said, half-laughing, half-gasping when Simeon’s hand hastily slid up and down his cock. “You’re so eager.”
Mournfully, Simeon allowed himself one last thought of Philippe’s eyes gleaming in the light of the fire and of what might have been. Then he pushed those thoughts away and pressed himself against Josué.
“Do it,” he said breathlessly. He could barely keep from squirming. “Fuck me.”
It was what Josué had always wanted, despite his grandiose declarations to the contrary. Or maybe he hadn’t lied—maybe he’d wanted Simeon like this, eager for it, needing it more than he needed to breathe.
In either case, Simeon was willing to surrender now. He should have done it from the start. Things might have been easier—they would have both known where they stood. And once Josué had what he wanted, he’d no longer have a reason to torment him.
Simeon didn’t have to look up to know that Josué was smiling. The already rapid pattern of his breathing quickened, and he pushed eagerly into the grasp of Simeon’s fingers.
“You want it, don’t you?” he said, managing to sound smug and self-satisfied even in the throes of passion.
“You know I do.” Simeon groaned as his cock slid along Josué’s thigh. He wondered for a moment if he’d lost his mind—giving in to Josué felt as if he was signing away something important, something irretrievable. Not just his body, but his will—his soul.
But that was nonsense. A man couldn’t possess another man’s soul. And Josué was only interested in Simeon’s body and what it could do for him. No free will or independent thought required.
“The middle of the day,” Josué murmured. “How scandalous.” But he was smiling as he said it, and then moaned when Simeon did something right, so Simeon did it again, circling his thumb against the underside of his cock. This time Josué sounded less smug when he spoke again.
“Enough of that. At least if you want me to make it to the bed. And I want you in a bed now.”
After the hours Simeon had spent straining in his chains, helplessly aroused and aching until he’d thought he’d go mad with it, walking was more difficult than it should be. Simeon’s limbs felt weak and shaky. Still, the bed wasn’t far, and Josué was starting to look as desperate as he did.
It was a small consolation, but Simeon would take it. He knew he couldn’t expect anything else.
Gratefully, he collapsed onto the bed as soon as they reached it, groaning when his smarting backside made contact with the sheets. He wriggled around onto his stomach, groaning again at the friction of his cock against the cool linen. When he looked up, he found Josué half undressed, his eyes focused on him with such hungry intensity that Simeon reeled as if he’d been struck.
He wanted Josué.
He swallowed at the shameful truth, even now when he found himself face to face with Josué’s cock, hard with hunger for him. He’d spent so long denying it, but it was too late to keep lying to himself. Hadn’t he found release more than once at Josué’s hands?
He’d wanted Philippe to fuck him, too. There was another truth he’d spent long years carefully not thinking about.
He’d been young and stupid then. He’d never had more than that one night by the fire, the distant memory of the heat of Philippe’s touch and his dreams of what might have been. But what might have been was this: Philippe fucking him the way he was about to be fucked. And Philippe was dead. So why shouldn’t Josué have him?
Perhaps, when all of this was over, when he’d managed to escape and found a place to hide, at least he’d be able to imagine what it would have been like with Philippe.
“It’s going to hurt,” Josué said. He lightly ran a hand over Simeon’s smarting buttocks when he joined him on the bed, and Simeon flinched. “This wasn’t the best of days to misbehave. But you already know that, don’t you?”
Simeon closed his eyes and pressed his face into the sheets. “Shut up and do it,” he said, his face as hot as his ass.
He still ached—the ginger might be gone, but his body was still tingling, a constant, distracting itch inside that made him squirm with need just to feel the pressure of Josué’s fingers again.
Josué chuckled. “Mind your manners. I could make you beg for it again.”
“Just do it.” Simeon arched helplessly, his hands digging into the sheets as he arched his back.
There was a moment of silence, then a breathless exhalation. “I could get used to this view.”
Josué’s hands against the insides of his thighs made him spread his legs wide. This time, Josué’s touch came as a relief.
Simeon only barely kept from pushing back into his touch when Josué’s finger teased at his entrance, and Josué made an appreciative sound at his eagerness.
“Yes. That’s more like it.”
He sounded breathless. It seemed Simeon wasn’t the only one who was eager for it, but he refrained from pointing that out.
Josué drew back for a moment, and Simeon dug his fingers hard into the sheets to keep from pleading with him to come back. A moment later, Josué returned, his finger slickened so that it slid into Simeon easily. The sensation made him arch his back, push back for more—but already Josué was pulling out of him again, the maddening, tingling heat inside him leaving him frantic.
“Here. This is what you want.”
Simeon swallowed when something much larger pressed against him. Josué’s arousal, hot and as slick as his finger had been. Josué might have fixated on the size of Simeon’s cock, but now that Josué pressed against him, he felt impossibly large himself. Surely it couldn’t fit. There was no way—
But the oil he must have used made it easy, even when Simeon’s body wasn’t entirely certain it was possible. Josué pressed against him and sunk inside, pushing deeper even when Simeon instinctively clenched around him, the burn different from the ginger that had tormented him for the past few hours.
Distantly, Simeon could hear the sound of his own panting breath. He stared down at the pristine sheets, felt his thighs tremble, felt the penetration—something so hard and large and foreign pressing even deeper. And then Josué cock rubbed against the spot that made Simeon’s back arch again, a moan spilling from his lips while he tried to understand what was happening to him.
Josué pulled out a little, pushed back inside, and this time the ache of being stretched open so wide was nothing against the sparks of heat his movements caused.
Simeon could still hear himself panting, could hear his helpless moan, and this time, when he pushed back in a demand for more, Josué indulged him. His next thrust filled him all the way. This time there was pain, too, as Josué had warned him there’d be, Josué so deep his hips pressed against his well-punished buttocks.
“I told you you’d like this.” Josué’s voice was rough, as if he was finding it hard to speak. “I knew.”
He bent forward until Simeon could feel his hot breath against his nape, his arm reaching around to grab Simeon’s cock. Josué’s grip was tight and demanding, the dual stimulation almost too much to bear. Simeon could hear himself cry out, gasping for breath as his body rocked back and forth, torn between the need to thrust into Josué’s rough grip or push back to feel him deeper inside.
It took only a few moments during which his body seemed to develop a mind of its own, the torment more agonizing, more pleasurable than anything he’d ever known in his life—and then he came in a hot rush all over Josué’s hand, clenching around his cock as if he wanted to keep him there deep inside forever.
Simeon could hear his own breathing, loud and labored. Even now, in the aftermath of pleasure, his body was still alive. The intensity of feeling Josué inside him was so overwhelming that he moaned when what he really wanted was to hide his face against the sheets in shame.
But Josué didn't let up, chasing his own pleasure with thrust after thrust all the way inside him until Simeon could feel his body pulse helplessly around Josué, every motion sending ripples of sensation through him.
Josué didn't last much longer. New heat rushed to Simeon's face at the sensation: Josué pressed against him all the way until Simeon’s reddened buttocks ached at the friction, the sudden wet heat inside him, Josué's moan, breathed low and satisfied against his nape. The vibrations of it sent off new sparks of what should be disgust and yet wasn't.
Simeon closed his eyes when Josué at last slid out of him. He could feel the wetness of Josué’s release drip down his thigh. His body felt well-used, stretched and aching and no longer his.
And that was what Josué had wanted, wasn't it? He’d wanted Simeon to finally realize that his fate rested in Josué's hands and that his body was no more than a toy.
Josué had played him well. Even now, Simeon could feel the aftershocks of a pleasure he was entirely unused to. The maddening, tingling heat of the ginger inside him had mostly dissipated--but what was left was the shock of Josué's touch, how he'd overwhelmed him, and how much Simeon had wanted him to.
Never again would he be able to forget the truth of it. Which must have been exactly what Josué wanted.
Josué collapsed next to him with a pleased sound.
"Better?" he said, slinging an amicable arm around his waist. "I told you I'd make it good for you. But if you want, you can keep pretending that you hate it."
Simeon breathed, slow and deep, thinking of Philippe's eyes again, the way they'd gleamed in the light of the fire so long ago. Then he forced his aching body to turn.
Josué was very close. His face was relaxed, eyes heavy and dark with pleasure.
Simeon had thought he'd be able to hold on to his memories of Philippe, but the truth was that as he'd arched helplessly in Josué's bed, all he'd seen was Josué. All he'd known was his touch and the scent of his skin and his sweat, and how desperately he'd wanted it.
"What good is that?" he asked. He felt absurdly proud that his voice didn't shake. "You heard me beg for it."
"I felt your body beg for it, too," Josué said with that smug satisfaction that made Simeon bristle.
Then Josué reached out, nonchalantly running his fingers over Simeon's spent cock. Simeon gasped again, so sensitive now that even this touch made him shiver.
"Twice," Josué said, undisguised pride in his voice. "Like I said. Very flattering."
"After you tormented me for hours. Anyone would have--"
The protest sounded weak even in his own ears. Josué at least did him the courtesy not to laugh.
“This was a pleasant surprise after the day I’ve had. I knew you’d be too smart to keep pretending you can’t see sense.”
It was immensely difficult to meet Josué’s smug gaze when Simeon still had Josué’s warm release dripping down his thighs, his body sore and exhausted and feeling subtly changed.
“You seem to have a high opinion of me,” Simeon said. “You don’t even know what you want from me.”
Arguing with Josué wouldn’t help him either, but after what had just happened, it was impossible not to push back a little.
He was still himself. Josué might have had what he wanted—what Philippe had never had—but Simeon was still who he’d always been. And he still had his plan.
“I told you what I want from you.” Josué trailed his hand up Simeon’s stomach, making him shiver. “Don’t get me wrong, this is very nice. But I want you to be who I know you can be. Not a deserter who doesn’t deserve the chance he’s been granted. I want you to be our guide, leading us through these mountains, offering up all your knowledge willingly—not to save your life but because it is your duty. There’s such a thing as honor, you know. Loyalty. Love for the country that—”
“Love for the emperor who’s swept across our lands the way he has devoured most of the continent?” Simeon said bitterly. “Is that truly what you feel? Love? Loyalty? For a man who doesn’t even speak our language and thinks he can rule us?”
“Don’t be a fool,” Josué said impatiently, “of course he knows Nabonnese. They all do, at court. What really matters is that the emperor’s a soldier. He’s a man like me. He knows what battle is like. I respect that, and so does any man here. It’s easy to feel loyalty to a man who rewards merit, not the name of your family.”
Simeon looked away, still keenly aware of the warmth of Josué’s hand slowly drawing circles on his chest. Simeon considered shaking him off, but couldn’t make himself do it. The day had been too long already. The last thing he needed was another fight with Josué. Let him enjoy his triumph.
“But this isn’t the time for philosophy,” Josué said at last, and as if on command, Bibeau entered.
Simeon realized with sudden mortification that they were both naked, and that it had to be all too obvious what had just come to pass. How long had Bibeau been waiting outside the tent? Had he seen—and if not, then he certainly would have heard...
Simeon hastily pulled the blanket against himself when Josué rose, unashamed of his nakedness. Josué went to his wash basin and began to unhurriedly clean himself while Bibeau set his table and poured him some wine.
“There’s a fine trout for you today, sir,” he said cheerfully. “Took some finessing to hold it back for you.”
Josué pulled on a clean shirt. “Sounds promising, Bibeau.”
With a nod, he sent him hurrying off to fetch the promised meal, then continued dressing. At last, he sat down on the bed by Simeon’s side, pulling the blanket off him, eyes gleaming with deep satisfaction as they trailed down Simeon’s chest to linger on his soft cock. Simeon’s hands twitched, but he fought the urge to reach out for the blanket.
“I’ve had a long, hard journey up into the mountains with your friend.” Josué ran his hand gently up Simeon’s thigh. “I’m tired and hungry. And I’d like company. Do you think you can do that now?”
Simeon tensed beneath his touch, then forced himself to relax. Wasn’t this what he’d wanted?
“Yes,” he said quietly. “I can.”
When Bibeau came rushing into the tent mere minutes later, he seemed surprised to see Simeon sitting by Josué’s side, clad in a clean shirt and with a pillow beneath him.
Simeon squirmed. The pillow helped, but his bruised bottom ached regardless. He wouldn’t be able to forget the belt’s lesson for another day or two.
Bibeau gave him an arch look as if to say, You’ve really done it now. Within a few more minutes, they were dining on bread and cheese and half a cold chicken. Shortly after that, Bibeau returned with the promised trout, grilled to perfection.
Simeon couldn’t quite say how he’d imagined Josué to react—smug and triumphant, perhaps. And there was a bit of smugness in his smile even now, but not more than usual. Mostly, Josué seemed relaxed and utterly at ease with the fact that he had Simeon sitting at his table, providing him company, when Simeon had spent most of his time in this tent naked and in chains.
Josué held out a glass of wine. “I had a first true look at these mountains of yours today.” He gestured into the direction vaguely behind Simeon’s head. “Your friend took me up onto one of those peaks—we crossed a ridge, and in the valley below, we could see a lake.”
Simeon nodded. There were many peaks, and many lakes, but not so many that could be reached in a few hours from the camp, offering a first glimpse of what was to come.
“I know the peak,” he said.
“What do you think? A good choice? Was today a suitable preparation?”
Simeon smiled wryly. “You have not fought in the mountains before?”
Josué shook his head. “The colonel has, of course. They say he scaled a glacier once to take the enemy from behind and turn their own cannons on them. Now that’s a man all of us would follow straight into hell—and ride out alive with him at our front, too, no doubt.”
“Then I hope he knows what he’s doing,” Simeon said. “It’s possible. Of course it’s possible. The passes are open. You won’t scale any glaciers. You will have to dismount for a good part of the journey, and you already know you won’t be able to take your own horses into Gabrada. But it’s possible.”
Josué’s smiled widened, and he leaned back in his chair.
“If the weather doesn’t turn on us,” Simeon continued relentlessly. “The weather changes fast in the mountains. Much faster than you are used to. Sometimes you begin the ascent in bright sunlight, and by the time you’re halfway up a mountain, a storm is upon you, the clouds are so heavy you can barely see your own hands in front of you, and it’s turned freezing cold. If you have an experienced guide, he might have caught the early warning signs. But even an experienced man can be surprised by the weather. A small group of men you can find shelter for. But there are too many of you.”
Josué exhaled, displeased, but still watching Simeon intently.
“We’ll have the ponies and mules,” he said. “Equipment.”
“Our ponies and mules will freeze in a snowstorm just like your men,” Simeon said. “Unless you find shelter for all of them.”
“So it’s dangerous. We knew that.”
“As long as you’re aware of it.”
Josué shrugged, as if to say, I’ve dealt with worse odds. And possibly he had. Simeon had little idea of where Josué’s career had taken him after Simeon had escaped the horror of war.
But no matter how experienced Josué was in the field, he had no experience of the mountains, and that was the only thing that counted here.
“Perhaps we’ll find a way to keep warm,” Josué said, eyes hot and amused as he took another sip of wine.
The wine was good—dark red, rich and warm in his mouth, with the wood of oak and the tang of ripe summer fruit. A good vintage. Even Simeon could tell, who’d had nothing but the local beer and cider for many years.
He took another swallow, watching Josué, trying to figure out what his plan was. Was this a reward for how well Simeon had behaved in his bed? Or had Josué spoken the truth? Was he merely tired after a long day and in need of company?
Perhaps both was true. He seemed subtly changed. The mountains could do that to a man.
Perhaps Josué was the sort of man who couldn’t bear heights—though surely he would have known before volunteering for such a mission. Perhaps it was as he’d said and a first glance at the mountains rising before him had taught him that the enemy they were about to meet was cold and impersonal—an enemy no weapon could prevail against. An enemy that had taken countless lives and would continue to so. The mountains demanded their tribute from every man who dared to cross the mountains without enough preparation, and from many who knew their way around, too.
“Tell me about the mountains,” Josué said. “Why this place? And for so long?”
Simeon shifted uncomfortably on his pillow, more embarrassed by the lingering ache of having felt Josué inside him than the welts of the belt. It was strange to talk to him like this, with Josué almost unguarded, mere moments after Josué had spilled himself inside his body, his moans still ringing in Simeon’s ears.
“It’s a good place,” Simeon said. “Good, honest people. Life’s hard in the mountains, but I was already used to that. Thought I could just as well starve up here and be free, blue sky above me.”
“But you didn’t starve.” Josué’s eyes lingered thoughtfully on Simeon. “Instead, you’re negotiating treaties with the emperor.”
Simeon shrugged, uncomfortable. “Winters are long and hard here. There’s not much to do. I learned to read, that first winter. Then I read.”
“That must have been quite some books.” Josué’s lips turned up in a slight smile. No doubt he was amused by the idea of someone like Simeon holding a book. “Perhaps I should have you read to me.”
“If that’s what you want.”
Simeon wasn’t quite sure what to make of Josué’s mood. Surely it was better than anger or suspicion? But a Josué who was so relaxed was strangely difficult to deal with.
Still, it was what he’d hoped to achieve, wasn’t it? A Josué who let down his guard would be easy to shake off in the mountains. And if he wanted Simeon to warm his bed during the journey, he might leave off the chains. Possessing Simeon’s body so intimately not only seemed to leave him in a good mood, but also convinced that he was utterly in control of Simeon, even without any chains on him.
“That’s not all I want,” Josué said, the corners of his mouth rising again, “but it’s a start.”
“What do you like to read then?”
Josué reached out and took hold of a small volume, bound in rather worn leather. Purchased from a second-hand dealer, or at least purchased so long ago that it had seen many battlefields.
“I might have you read this,” he said, eyes still hot as they looked Simeon up and down. “The shirt will have to go, of course.”
“Of course,” Simeon echoed, trying to keep from flushing.
“You can read to me while I bathe. Unless you’d rather bathe me instead?” Josué’s smile widened when Simeon instinctively shook his head.
“I can read to you.”
“Good. It was cold in the mountains, though I didn’t try to swim in any glacier pools.”
“I wouldn’t recommend the experience,” Simeon said, and Josué laughed softly.
“Not that I’m not grateful of what you did for me,” Simeon murmured, not quite able to meet Josué’s eyes when he remembered the warmth of his embrace.
Once Bibeau had brought in the tub and heated enough water, Josué began to undress.
"Come here," he said. "Sit close. And bring that book from my desk."
Simeon hastily moved towards the desk, closing his fingers around the book’s worn leather while behind him, he could hear the splashing of water. He hesitated for a moment to give Josué time to settle in the water.
When he at last turned around, he found Josué seated in the small tub, his chest gleaming wet and his legs spread apart so that Simeon could glimpse the outline of his cock in the warm water.
Simeon swallowed, holding the book tightly as he moved closer. With every step he was reminded of the sensation of Josué inside him. Although much of the discomfort had faded, he could still feel him--and he could feel the stripes Josué’s belt had raised on his buttocks, the welts throbbing gently every time he moved.
Carefully, Simeon sank to his knees next to the tub. He was still wearing the shirt, whereas Josué was the one who was naked for once, but it didn't make him feel any better. They both knew who was in power here after all.
After a moment, Simeon took a deep breath and pulled his shirt off.
Josué made an appreciative sound. Then he reached out. A wet finger wound around a curl of Simeon’s hair, tugging slightly.
"I like this," he said, then released Simeon and settled back into the water with a sigh. "Read."
Simeon opened the book. A Treatise on Military Equitation, the title page declared, and Simeon shook his head, not sure whether he was relieved or amused.
Simeon wasn’t surprised to find the pages as worn as the cover. Still, despite the book’s age, the pages were clean, free from stains or marks. It was what Simeon had expected—the possession of a man who didn't have much, and who'd treated all of his belongings as a luxury to be handled with great care.
How much had Josué paid for this book? Even old and worn as it was, it couldn't have been cheap on a soldier's pay. Or had he bought it later, when he'd received his first officer's commission? Was it the first purchase made by a man who had some coin to spare for the first time in his life?
Simeon frowned, annoyed at himself and the thoughts that had arisen so suddenly. He owed Josué nothing, least of all his sympathy. Josué might have saved him, and Simeon could be grateful for that--but it didn't mean that he'd forgive Josué for what he'd done. Josué wasn't the only one who knew what it was like to live with nothing. And no one had shown Philippe any compassion when he'd bled out in the dust at Simeon’s feet.
To distract himself from those thoughts, Simeon began to read.
“Correction is often necessary, but it should be well timed and given with temper, and one blow will often suffice; for the horse recollects his fault and consequent correction; if he repeats it, the correction must be repeated; but severe flogging continued for a long time will only enrage and frighten the animal without correcting his fault.”
Simeon looked up and found that Josué had relaxed further, sliding down as far into the warm water as was possible. His eyes were half-closed, his mouth relaxed, although now his lips twitched in amusement.
"Is that what you think you're doing?" Simeon said, thinking of the little mare again--and of how easily he'd given in.
"I'm not here to break in horses," Josué murmured, then sighed. "But I do like the sound of your voice."
Simeon exhaled, then leafed ahead, determined to find a passage that wouldn't lead to further smug remarks or memories of how quickly he'd yielded.
"I cannot help observing how few and trifling the instructions are, which most regiments give a young officer, who though he may have led the field with fox-hounds, and rode over turnpike gates in his native country, is in all probability totally unacquainted with the method of riding which is necessarily adopted in regiments of cavalry, and which must be adopted by every individual, for one bad rider will cause such confusion as totally to prevent a squadron from moving with regularity and precision," he read, determined to keep his eyes on the page when he heard the sound of gentle splashing and caught movement from the corner of his eye.
"Is that what you did?" he said sarcastically. "Led the field with fox-hounds in your youth?"
Despite himself, he slowly let the book sink and raised his head. Soap suds gleamed on Josué's chest, firmly muscled thighs spread to each side of the tub as he turned to eye Simeon.
"What do you think?" Josué asked, a corner of his mouth drawn up.
"Where did you learn how to ride?" Simeon asked in turn.
A moment too late he realized what he'd said. He'd been determined not to lower his guard even further than he already had, and he had no interest at all in learning about Josué's life. Josué had ruined his; that was all he needed to know.
Still, now that the thought had arisen in his mind, it was hard to let go of it. Josué was a good rider, but the skills demanded of an officer were not the sort a boy who'd perhaps sat on a farm horse in his childhood would possess. Had he spent his sparse free time as a sergeant with a riding master?
No, it was doubtful Josué would have had the coin for it. Was that why he'd bought the book? Had he thought he could acquire the skill from reading alone? And how had he come to be the man he was now, with obvious skill, from the pitiless sergeant Simeon had known ten years ago?
