Note: This is an unedited snippet of the new story. I had hoped to have this finished a week ago, but life has been a fickle bitch. Hopefully this teaser will wet your appetite for more.
Patience is a virtue, my darlings.
–Edit 8-31: I’ve added more to this teaser. The story is longer than anticipated. Please revisit and enjoy the 2 pages or so I’ve added.
Warning: This story contains strong sexual situations. Readers must be over 18.
Autumn’s claws were hooked deep into the land. Chill winds swept over hills and down through the valleys. Blades of grass danced in their wake. It was the end of the campaign season. Come Samhain the armies would all return home to their families until Spring awakened the need to fight again. Winter in Ireland claimed as many lives as the battles raging on her plains.
A canopy of leaves the color of the sun’s beams sheltered a pair of soldiers from the storm brewing to the west. Light rains pattered against the leaves, singing a lullaby to the brave lads below.
“The Pale,” Sloane spat. His head jerked towards the wide trench they’d been sent to watch.
“We’re not goin’ on that subject again. No point in bitchin’ during our entire watch.”
“How can ye say that, Glyn? Those pigs killed your father.” Fire snapped in Sloane’s eyes. He’d never forget the day he watched his best friend bury his father. It was an honorable death, but that did nothing to lessen their pain.
“There is no confirmation if it was the English or one of his enemies that did him in. Let dead soldiers lie, friend.” Glyn closed his eyes and leaned back against the trunk of the tree.
Sloane growled in agitation. He knew damn well that the English were to blame for the hurt lingering in Glyn’s eyes. That day a part of his soul went into the ground right alongside his father. He’d give anything to see his friend’s spirits restored. Fighting alongside a virtual ghost wasn’t as thrilling as it had once been.
“When are we due back at camp?” Glyn asked after a while.
“Sunset.” He looked up at the darkening sky. “Not that we can tell when the bloody sun sets.”
Glyn chuckled and looked up at Sloane. The mail coat he’d stolen off a fallen soldier was in desperate need of repair. Several of the chain links had been broken when a pikeman damn near got in a lucky shot. His heart squeezed in on itself as the memory swam to the surface of his mind. For a few awful moments he’d been so sure his best and only friend was on his way to Heaven. The idea of losing him was as painful as any wound he’d received fighting for his homeland.
“What is wrong? Does your leg still ache?” Sloan crouched down next to him. “Let me take a look.”
The last thing Glyn needed was to be mothered but he failed to find the proper words to tell Sloane to fuck off before the man’s hands were on him. The linen bandage covering the healing wound peeled back. Sloane was being oh-so-gentle with it. The tenderness touched him. It was a side of the man that no one else saw. Everyone was so focused on his fighting skills to bother seeing anything else.
Calloused fingers traced the jagged outline of the cut on the outside of his thigh. “We will need to clean it tonight,” Sloane mused and replaced the bandage.
By the time he was finished securing the bandage, Glyn was ready to jump out of his skin. More and more contact with his friend stirred thoughts that he simply could not fathom. Sloane’s hand brushed his thigh as he pulled his shirt back down in place. Blood rushed to his groin quicker than a jackrabbit. He was quick to cover his arousal with the brat wrapped around his shoulders.
“I’ll go up the tree an’ see if there is any movement.” Glyn scrambled to his feet and started to climb. He had to do something other than sit there and think of the throbbing ache in his crotch.
“Like hell ye will!” Sloane closed in on his friend and yanked him free from the tree. “Are ye daft? How will ye get down from there? I will go up.”
“The hauberk is too heavy. Ye can’t climb up there in it.”
He looked down at the heavy mail shirt and cursed Glyn for being right yet again. The man was always right. It would be frustrating had his intuition not saved him countless times. Sloane owed Glyn his life. Nothing he could do would ever repay that debt. His eyes scoured over the defiant look on the other man’s face. Damn them both to hell, he couldn’t let him hurt himself any more. Watching Glyn’s pain injured something within his heart.
“I’ll take it off. You’ve no business climbing an ant hill let alone a bloody tree.”
Sloane unfastened his arming belt and dropped the sword, knives, and coin purse on the ground within easy reach. Hauling the hem of the hauberk up over his ass, he bent over and began the shake the heavy weight down over his head. Half of the shirt pulled free easily before it suddenly stopped moving.
“It’s stuck,” Sloane called.
Glyn watched from a few feet away as Sloane doubled over like a bear and removed his mail shirt. It was a process he’d watched over and over again. Only this time his rigid cock pounded with need for attention. The bottom of Sloane’s long linen shirt pulled up with the heavy armour. He had a perfect view of the other man’s ass as it shook in the air. God damn him for even considering wanting that. They were friends.
“Are ye goin’ to stand there an’ laugh or are ye comin’ to help?” Sloane called again.
Inwardly Glyn groaned. The fire cutting a path through his body roared to life at the idea of approaching the object of his desire. He reached into the pouch hanging off his belt and pulled out a whiskey flask. Liquid fire burned down his throat, hit his stomach and joined the rest of the flames setting him ablaze. That drink was a stupid idea, he realized too late.
“Aye, I’ve got ye.”
Taking a breath for courage, he closed the distance between them. Sloane was still doubled over, his hauberk caught on the hand-woven belt holding his long shirt in place. Glyn reached down and tried to unhook the chainmail, but one of the broken links was wound up in the weave. He spat a curse at his ill luck and jerked on the mail shirt.
“Hey!” Sloane hollered as he was damn near lifted off the ground.
He fell back, only Glyn’s body keeping him from landing flat on his ass. Irritated at his friend, Sloane ripped the mail shirt over his head and turned to glare. A good tongue-lashing stuck behind his teeth when he caught sight of the sheepish look on Glyn’s face.
That was when he realized something rock hard and warm was pressed tight against his ass.
“I am so sorry,” Glyn stammered and jumped back like his boots were on fire.