The Lads

Warning: This story contains strong sexual situations and adult content. Readers must be over 18.

Thank you,

R.C. Murphy

Ireland 1368

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 warmed their blood and 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 stationed 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’ durin’ our entire watch.”

“How can ye say that, Glyn? Those pigs killed your father.” Fire snapped in Sloane’s eyes. He would never forget the day he watched his best friend bury his father. It was an honorable death, but the knowledge did nothing to lessen their pain.

“There’s 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. An invisible hand wrenched his heart 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 their homeland.

“What is wrong? Does your leg still ache?” Sloan crouched down next to him. “Let me take a look.”

The last thing Glyn wanted 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 away 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 attached 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.

At that moment 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.

Sloane fell back. Dazed, he sat there for a moment to enjoy the lingering warmth of being so close to Glyn’s desire. There’d never been any clues that his friend felt even a morsel of what he did. For weeks he fought the urge to fall on the other man and sate the drowning need that often kept him awake at night. Even when he took to the woods alone to service himself by hand Glyn was on his mind, his name hanging on parted lips as Sloane came.

“Shite.” Glyn wrapped his brat around himself again and began to pace in front of the tree. “I’ll go set up watch on the other side of the field.”

He turned on his heel and began to walk as fast as his injured leg would carry him. Cheeks flush, Glyn felt as though his face was bright enough to be seen across the entire countryside. With no real destination in mind, he simply walked. Limping around was far less painful that watching the confused expression on Sloane’s face. God, what he would give to reverse time and erase the last few moments of their lives.

“Glyn, stop.”

Heart racing in his chest, Glyn pulled his brat up to keep the rain off his head and continued on. No matter what Sloane had to say, it was sure to hurt. It was better if they didn’t see each other for a while. Perhaps by then whatever fantasies lurking in his head would vanish. Aye, and they fey were going to come dance on the tip of his nose as well.

“God’s teeth, Glyn,” Sloane huffed as he finally caught up. “Ye do move fast for a man with a hole in his leg.”

“Embarrassment is a powerful motivator.” Glyn muttered, his face completely hidden by the fabric over his head. Rain dripped down from his brat, even Nature cried for their poor predicament.

Sloane waited for the other man to stop and face him. After they walked on for a minute in tense silence his patience snapped. Cutting in front of Glyn, he blocked the path. His friend wasn’t even looking and barreled into him at full speed. Both of them wobbled, clutching to each other to keep from falling in the mud.

“What the fuck was that for?” Glyn snarled and finally looked up.

“I told ye to stop.” Sloane’s hand slid over Glyn’s arm. Reluctantly he stepped back and gathered his wits for what had to come. “We need to talk ‘bout this.”

“There’s nothin’ to talk about.”

Stepping to the side, Glyn tried to make it around. Sloane’s arm shot out and pulled the other man into an embrace. Quicker then either could think, their lips brushed together. Once, twice. On the third they came together with a bruising need. Someone growled. Sloane was surprised to realize it was him, but didn’t stop. His hands moved to cradle Glyn’s face. Shaking fingers swept away drops of rain from his friend’s flushed cheeks.

“Tell me there is nothin’ to talk about now,” he whispered against Glyn’s parted lips.

Under his hands the other man trembled. “We can’t be doin’ this, Sloane.”

“Why not?” His hands slid down, fingers taking their time memorizing the way Glyn’s muscles felt under his shirt. “There’s no one here. The English haven’t had movement in days. We’re out here alone with nothin’ to do.”

Glyn ground his teeth and tried in vain to not notice how good Sloane’s hands felt as they roamed over his stomach. For what seemed ages, he tried to break the connection, tried to step away from the temptation. This was his friend, brother at arms. But dear God did it feel right to be this close.

“No, Sloane…”

The protest cut short when Sloane pulled him close again, one of his hands firmly grasping Glyn’s hard cock. He moaned into the mouth making demands of his. Unbidden his hips writhed, pushing against the hand bringing him more pleasure than he’d known in months. Glyn’s head swam with new, intense sensations. He knew there was no going back now. They had to see this through or the head of his prick would explode.

“No what? Do you want me to move my hand?” The hand in question left him for a moment while Sloane yanked up the bottom of his long shirt.

Skin met skin and Glyn hissed at how cool Sloane’s fingers were. They wrapped around him, a stark contrast to the molten steel pumping through his shaft. “Go back to the tree.”

The hand clutching him hesitated. A look akin to fear glistened in Sloane’s green eyes. “Even now ye think to turn me away?”

“No ye fool, we’re being rained on, or did ye not notice?” He chuckled and swept a strand of wet hair off the other man’s forehead. A smile pulled at the corners of Sloane’s lips. Glyn vowed to do everything in his power to keep it there. God he was stunning.

“I was a wee distracted.” Sloane’s hand tightened its grip on Glyn’s cock before forcing himself to listen to reason. They would freeze once night fell and caught them in sopping wet clothes.

They made their way back to the tree at a pace more comfortable for Glyn’s leg. Sloane could not believe how quickly the other man moved to avoid doing what they were about to do. Was he afraid? There was nothing to fear, as far as he could see. Perhaps his friend was embarrassed about his arousal. The palm of his hand tingled, the memory of Glyn’s velvet warmth forever branded there.

Glyn pulled off his brat and laid the fabric down on the damp ground. His hands trembled slightly. He became lost in fussing with trying to lay it down just right. Sloane grinned and pulled the man to his feet. Their lips met again, a hesitant brush. Maybe Glyn wasn’t the only one fearing what was to come.

He felt the other man’s spine stiffen. Glyn stepped back, a look of firm resolve in his dark eyes. Sloane opened his mouth, ready to ask what was wrong when his friend dropped to his knees.

Hands roamed over his thighs, edging closer and closer to his groin. Sloane’s eyes went wide at the silent offer on Glyn’s face. All he could do was nod. Any words he’d of spoken at that point would have sounded ridiculous or only audible to the beasts in the woods.

Before either of them could hesitate again, Glyn slid his hands under Sloan’s long shirt. Coarse hairs tickled the palm of his hands. Just short of the goal, his fingers hesitated. For so long now he’d dreamed of doing this. How could he be so sure it wasn’t another dream set out to break his heart?

“Please don’t let this be a dream,” he whispered.

Rough fingers snaked into his hair and pulled. Glyn’s eyes rolled up to look at his friend. Confusion sang through every fiber of his being. Had he gone too far? Maybe he misread Sloane’s intentions.

“Does that hurt?” The grip in his hair tightened.

“Aye, it does.”

“Then you’re not dreamin’.” Sloane smiled, his grip turning into a gentle caress as his hand slid down to cup Glyn’s cheek.

His confidence restored, Glyn hoisted the hem of Sloane’s shirt up and looked upon his rock hard erection for the first time. Nervously he licked his dry lips while admiring the sight straining out towards him. God had taken extra time when he fashioned Sloane’s cock. It was handsome and more than adequate in size. For a second Glyn wondered if he could take it all in his mouth.

There was only one way to find out.

Sloane’s head fell back. With one tentative lick across the head of his prick, Glyn had rendered him senseless. Another wet caress circled around him, hitting a sensitive spot on the underside of if the head. Sensations made his head light. A firm grip around the base of his cock made the world soar away.

When Glyn took him into his mouth for the first time, Sloane forced himself to look down. The sight of someone he’d cared for so long bringing him such intense pleasure drew a low groan from his lips. Already the fire in his veins had begun to draw into his groin. He watched as more and more of his prick disappeared into the hot cavern of Glyn’s mouth. It was impossible to believe how good it felt each time the other man’s tongue caressed him when he withdrew.

“Much more an’ I’ll go,” Sloane ground out.

Glyn released him from his mouth with a soft pop. Sloane moaned when he came back in for one last lick across the head of his cock. Everything that he was had become centered on the throbbing need for release, but he held it at bay, wanting to bring his friend the same sort of pleasure first.

“I want ye in me,” Glyn said.

Sloane stood there and stared stupidly while Glyn’s request sank in. When he envisioned this moment, his brain didn’t make it much further than what had just happened. Never in his wildest dreams could he have known his friend would want that of him. The throbbing in his prick answered for him. Inside he knew he would give Glyn anything he asked.

Glyn cursed his rashness silently. He should have simply finished Sloane off and left it at that. Now he was asking something of his friend that he may very well despise. But he couldn’t help himself. The need to know what it felt like to be claimed in full by Sloane haunted him and would continue to until an enemy cut him down on the battlefield.

“Lie back.”

He was so lost in his berating that for a moment Glyn was unsure of why he should be lying down. It wasn’t until Sloane knelt down on the brat beside him did the significance of those two simple words make sense.

Quickly Glyn scrambled onto his hands and knees, hoping that the other man would not noticed the excitement trembling through his limbs. A gentle hand caressed his ass.

“Not like a bitch, Glyn. Like a lady. I wish to look at ye.” Sloane nudged him sideways so that he fell over on his side.

Glyn rolled onto his back not bothering to hide his surprise. “I just though that…”

“Well ye thought wrong, friend. I want to see how much ye enjoy this and I want ye to see how much I enjoy being with ye.” The smile cutting across his face melted part of Glyn’s heart.

A breath caught in his throat as Sloane slowly maneuvered to kneel between his legs. He’d tucked the bottom of his shirt into the narrow belt around his waist. Glyn had a perfect view of his cock, still glistening wet with spit. The sight tightened his balls and sent a jolt of fire to skewer his own erection.

“Are ye sure?” Sloane wrapped his fingers around the base of his dick and gave it a little shake. “Ye sure ye want this?”

Glyn licked his suddenly dry lips and nodded. Was Sloane kidding? He’d never wanted anything or anyone so much before.

With trembling hands, Sloane slid Glyn’s shirt up to pool on his stomach. Hungry eyes locked on the rigid length he’d exposed. A pearl of moisture caught his attention. Before he could think twice, Sloane bent down and lapped up the sticky treat. His tongue caressed Glyn, taking its time to taste him and savor the bitter-salty taste.

Under him Glyn’s entire body stiffened. A slow breath hissed out between his teeth. Sloane looked up. Inside his chest, his heart did a flip. The look on his friend’s face was of pure passion. His hand replaced his mouth, slowly stroking so he could prolong that pleasured look.

Using his other hand, Sloane grasped himself again and guided it towards Glyn’s ass. His hips eased forward, slowly pushing the head of his cock into the tight hole. The sensation of Glyn’s body taking his in was damn near too much. A ragged breath shook his body as he paused to regain balance.

“Don’t stop,” Glyn whispered.

Spurred by the request, Sloane’s hips began to move forward again, not stopping until his entire length was buried inside the other man. Glyn moaned and Slone was sure he would burst then and there. He held onto the release, forcing deep breaths into his lungs until he felt in control again. What was it about Glyn that had him ready to overflow at any given moment?

Lying there under Sloane, feeling his cock twitch deep inside, it was better than anything he could have ever asked for. Glyn moaned again as the other man began to draw back out of him until that last wonderful inch remained in. He thought Sloane meant to retreat entirely from his body.

With a powerful thrust of his hips, Sloane slid into him again. Glyn gasped, savoring the way the other man’s balls slapped against his ass. The reality of being filled by this man, someone he’d admired and wanted for so long, it made the head of his cock just about pop off. He wasn’t going to last long if Sloane continued to stroke his shaft while he plunged into his ass.

Sloane found a rhythm. Nice, steady, and just the right amount of brute force. He was a magnificent sight crouched between Glyn’s legs. Dark brows furrowed, shaggy hair hanging down in his gorgeous eyes; he was lost in concentration. His hips pounded forward over and over in time with the hand driving Glyn to swear repeatedly under his breath. When he shifted his hips and changed the angle, Glyn thought he was going to die from the pleasure of it.

“Fuck, I’m goin’ to go,” Glyn hissed.

A groan of relief eased passed Sloane’s parted lips. He’d been fighting so hard to stave off his own release to pleasure Glyn, but he was right there, ready to explode at any given moment. Fingers tightened around the other man’s cock and he focused his attention on the swollen head. His hips doubled their efforts, thrusting up and in with all the power he could muster.

Glyn cursed loudly. His hands dug into the fabric under him and his back bowed. Hot streams of cream shot out through Sloane’s fingers, coating them sticky. His hips faltered once, twice. Giving one last hard thrust, he drove into Glyn and joined his friend in utter bliss.

Legs weak with pleasure, Sloane collapsed on top of Glyn. His body screamed for a breath he must have been holding while waiting for their mutual release. Under his flushed cheek he could hear Glyn’s heart thundering like a line of horsemen. A satisfied smile stretched his lips.

“That was… I don’t have words to give it justice,” he said once he could breathe normally again.

“Then lets not.” Glyn kissed the top of his head. “Though we should move soon, lest someone happen upon us all tangled together.”

“Are ye ashamed?” Sloane propped himself up on his arms and frowned down at the other man.

“Nay. But we’d be in deep shite for not bein’ at our post.” He slid out from under Sloane reluctantly. Immediately Glyn mourned the warmth of his friend’s body nestled deep within his own.

“I hate when you’re right,” Sloane sighed.

“Ye should get used to it. I’m right a lot.”

Sloane laughed. It sang though Glyn’s chest like a chorus of angels. He knew that come sunset when their duty had been fulfilled they would find each other again. The hungry look in the other man’s eyes as they stood and straightened their clothes confirmed it.

“Aye, but today ye were wrong,” Sloane teased. He picked up the brat, shook it off and wrapped it around him. Glyn’s heart warmed at the gesture.

Sometimes it wasn’t so bad to be wrong, Glyn realized. He was thankful Sloane had taken a chance and proved how wrong he’d been to hide his true desires.


8 thoughts on “The Lads

  1. Wow Renee! I do know what to say – just don’t know if I should say it here… I am truly impressed by your ability to capture an erotic moment regardless of who is involved. You could make butterfly sex hot! Who needs the little blue pill when I’ve got you!

  2. Um… I need to come read these things more often. This was very well written. You did a beautiful job of portraying what could easily have been an awkward moment. Thanks for sharing!

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