After having sent Watchers to retrieve the corpse from the alley and log the text, Gilbert had quickly washed and put on fresh clothes. The icy well water in the small washroom at the palisade had done much to quicken him. A brief examination had revealed that the painter wore the sash of those employed in the house of the High Merchant, the Harbour Master’s second in command.
By now, having walked to Old Town which he rarely ever visited, he felt almost awake again as he was let into the brothel The Maskerade. The establishment was quite famous and catered to a clientele of much greater means than a Watcher.
The very explicit nature of a place like a high-end brothel seemed …very unlike Temple as Gilbert knew him. Quiet, skittish, careful. Consummate professional. Slow to trust.
The meeting in the alley had kept replaying itself in his mind all morning. He’d been a fool earlier, making it sound like he thought the Magpie was somehow responsible, but his instinct told him that… he was involved. Maybe without knowing it. Something about this entire bizarre business seemed connected. The painter’s reaction today had been too open and specific to Temple to be meaningless. But Temple had reacted with puzzlement and fear. And he had definitely not been comfortable or happy seeing the painter die.
Ever since they met, Gilbert had been amused at how easy the master thief of Sonderport was to read. He had to trust that what he was reading was true.
When he had entered the brothel, he had given his name and, as Temple had said, he was expected. Then he had been asked to disarm himself, remove his boots and socks, and choose a half-mask from a wall with at least a hundred of them in varying levels of intricacy. He chose the least crazy one he could find: a ginger cat, beautifully painted. The doorkeeper, a tall, strong woman with a no-nonsense gaze, had claimed it was ‘house policy’.
When she guided Gilbert through a slightly sloping corridor to reach the main house, she instructed him to walk in the middle, where a broad groove allowed water to flow continually, almost covering his feet. The cool water was curiously refreshing, and the odd experience shook him out of his reverie. At the back of his mind, he mused that this was probably why Temple wanted them to talk here. Everything was new, and Gilbert was the one at a disadvantage.
The brothel proper was nearly overwhelming. The rich but tasteful décor was a surprise, the thick carpets under his bare feet pleasant, and although it was midmorning and the establishment was presumably not running at full speed, the workers, men and women both, were handsome, healthy, and came in all shapes, sizes, and species. Some were catering to their masked clients in small, cosy bar areas or escorting them to rooms.
When the doorkeeper finally stopped by an intricately carved door and knocked a quick signal, Gilbert had to actively remind himself why he was there. Temple opened the door. He held a mask of a colourful bird to his face and stepped aside for Gilbert to enter. Some coin changed hands and Temple nodded at the rather stone-faced doorkeeper before he closed and locked the door. Then he threw his mask on a side table by the door and looked at Gilbert with a small smile. “Cat. I’m a little surprised.”
“The least lavish,” Gilbert explained and took the mask off. The room had two soft-looking sofas and a table in one corner with a small bar cabinet, holding several exotic-looking bottles and glasses. There was a large, four-poster bed with heavy red hangings. The walls had open shelves holding an assortment of objects one would expect to find at a brothel. Near the sofas was a washstand with an ornate mirror hanging over it.
He looked at Temple, who was wearing dark trousers and a loose-fitting shirt. He looked calmer, more at ease than Gilbert had seen him before, and there was a hint of a smile in the corner of his mouth. Then Gilbert’s gaze went to the thief’s feet which were also bare, and he realised he had missed that sight. Long, slender feet with a dusting of dark hairs at the ankle, where the buttons keeping his trousers tight had been opened. He longed to run his hand up the strong, sinewy legs that he had only ever touched to remove the crossbow bolt.
He tore his gaze away with difficulty. “Alright,” he shook his head. “I assume you chose this place to rattle me?”
“Are you rattled, Gilbert?” Temple asked with a small smile and went to sit down cross-legged on one of the sofas.
Gilbert sat down on the other sofa and the smile in the corner of Temple’s mouth got more pronounced. “So you are actually comfortable smiling in my presence?” he couldn’t help asking.
“Absolutely. I’m not surrounded by Watchers or lying in pain, near-naked in a stranger’s bed.” He sat back, calm and relaxed, slender hands resting on his knees. “I suppose it’s up to you to trust I didn’t ask you here to ambush you.”
“I don’t think you are going to ambush me. And I don’t think you had anything to do with the madman and his wall writing. The way you reacted to him wasn’t guilty. Not at all. I’m sorry I made it sound like I was suspicious.”
Temple gave him a scrutinising look and then frowned. “I broke into a house on your orders, and you accused me of being in league with the murderer, and then I wanted to tell you of the painter, and you accused me of …something. I’m not sure. But,” he held up a hand to stop Gilbert from interrupting, “you picked me up, even though you knew who I was, and you never attempted to hold me back, though I accused you of planning that. And then you did it again at the bar and took my comfort into consideration, and I fled.”
Gilbert nodded and smiled at Temple. “It seems to me like we can either go our separate ways or just trust we aren’t trying to harm each other.”
Temple nodded and then got to his feet and moved over to Gilbert’s sofa, seating himself cross-legged, facing him. “You don’t mind, do you?”
“Oh, no. Not at all.” He couldn’t help smiling. He was still tired, but it was a faint memory, and being this close to the thief was quickening all his senses. He slowly turned and sat cross-legged like Temple, their knees touching.
“So, ask your questions,” Temple said. “And tell me what’s going on.”
“Ehm…” Gilbert couldn’t hold back a laugh. “Right. When you distracted him so I could get close without being noticed, he kneeled to you. Do you have any idea why?”
The thief shook his head and two small lines appeared between his dark brows. “I don’t know,” he said quietly, seemingly unnerved.
“What about the message on the wall, then? There have been some of them that talk about the temple, whatever it means. Not just this one. Did you understand any of it?”
“No, Gilbert, because a temple and being named Temple are two different things. And besides, you don’t even know if it’s my actual name. You only told me the amnesty was forever if I told you what to call me!”
“Are you really that sassy?” Gilbert laughed. “Alright, fine, fine.” He held his hands up in a gesture that was rapidly beginning to register with him as his Temple-soothing gesture, either against his fear, distrust, or anger. “Then what about the one he said he worked for? Rakkos?”
Temple made an exasperated gesture with his hands. “I don’t know, Watcher. I don’t know what it means!” he exclaimed, but this time, there was more than just denial in his voice and face.
“Look, I’m not accusing you of knowing anything about Rakkos,” Gilbert said calmingly, watching for the reaction he had seen twice now. And there it was in the thief’s expressive face and mannerisms: fear. “Rakkos… what did he call it? Rakkos, the highest dark?”
“I don’t know!” Temple snapped forcefully.
“Peace,” he said calmingly. “It’s alright. But are you sure, because every time I say that name, you flinch? I’m not saying you’re lying; I don’t think you are, but something is happening, right here,” he slowly reached out and touched the thief’s forehead, “and here,” he said and let a finger glide over his shoulder, gently pressing down on it.
“It’s just an ugly name with a bad taste. That’s all. And you are a danger to me. I can’t help you!” Temple exclaimed, and Gilbert felt he was seconds from storming off.
He reached out to calmly put his hands on the thief’s shoulder and felt Temple freeze under his touch. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to get you angry. If you remember something or learn something, will you tell me?” he asked evenly, and let his hands gently begin to caress the tense shoulders.
Temple stared down at his folded legs for a while, but the tension in his shoulders diminished slowly. Then he finally looked up. “That depends on what I remember,” he said softly.
“That was a very, very honest answer,” Gilbert grinned and allowed his hands to strengthen their grip a little to help loosen up tense muscles, while his thumbs caressed the collarbones with each touch.
Temple looked up at him, a touch of annoyance in his gaze. “This didn’t go particularly well.”
“I think it went exceptionally well. We’re both still talking.”
“I don’t know what’s going on, but ever since that house, it’s felt like… some kind of odd resonance. But I just can’t hear it fully.” Temple shook his head, clearly aware that it was a vague description at best, but then he leaned into Gilbert’s touch and closed his eyes with a small sigh.
Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
Gilbert smiled to himself and let his fingers slowly work towards the back of his neck, warming up the muscles. Then Temple’s hands, fingers still painted black with ink, slid over to caress Gilbert’s knees, then his thighs. Then Temple opened his grey eyes and smiled as his thumbs caressed Gilbert’s erection, making him gasp for breath.
Temple pushed closer to let his lips softly touch Gilbert’s before he retreated again. There was a look in his eyes, somewhere between challenge and question, and Gilbert laughed. “You don’t have to ask permission for anything,” he stated and pulled the thief closer with a hand at the back of his neck.
“Good,” Temple whispered and let his hands grip Gilbert’s hips, guiding him to turn on the sofa and lean on the backrest.
He did as instructed, but pulled Temple into a greedy kiss, gasping through the warmth when the thief’s hands went exploring. Suddenly desperate, he tore at Temple’s shirt, forcing them to break the kiss to pull it over his head so he could finally, finally touch his skin unhindered.
A shiver of delight ran through him when he let his hands slide from Temple’s strong, slender shoulders and down over the corded muscles of his chest. He let his fingers scratch through the dark hairs, down the hard muscles of the stomach, enjoying access to his warm skin. Temple held still, his hands stroking the front of Gilbert’s trousers. His head was tilted back in delight and his eyes closed. He was a work of perfection and, suddenly, Gilbert realised something.
For all the strange self-confidence he had displayed here, in a brothel, it didn’t change the fact that Temple didn’t trust people. Gilbert couldn’t imagine there was much chance he invited intimacy with anyone beyond a quick, impersonal fuck. It didn’t change Gilbert’s lust or passion, but the intimacy suddenly felt like a rare victory, and he put his arm around the thief, leaning him back a bit so he could kiss his neck, collarbone, and chest.
Temple put his arms around Gilbert’s neck and leaned back in the embrace, giving the Watcher room to let his hands slide down over his backside, which drew a moan of pleasure from him, as Gilbert let his tongue explore a nipple that instantly hardened at the touch. Temple gasped, and his fingers tightened their grip. When Gilbert kissed his way back up, Temple met him in a kiss that felt almost desperate, and he began tearing at the Watcher’s shirt, which didn’t give quickly enough, and the kiss ended with a frustrated growl that made Gilbert laugh.
“Undress, damn it!” Temple demanded and then grinned, but when their eyes met, he seemed to grow self-conscious.
Quickly, Gilbert got out of his shirt, threw it on the floor, and put his arms around Temple before the self-consciousness had time to settle. The feeling of skin to skin made him gasp, and when Temple leaned against him with a soft sigh, it felt like something between them, something cold, snapped and vanished.
For a moment, they just stared at each other. Then Gilbert slowly let his hands slide up to Temple’s face and kissed him softly. “I want you so much that it actually hurts,” he said. “And I don’t want to hurry.”
Temple nipped his lip quickly. “I agree. We should take it slow. But I want you inside of me first.”
*
The effect of Temple’s words was hot and immediate. Gilbert’s pupils dilated and his hands slid down to Temple’s hips, pressing them together where it mattered. Then he pushed him off the sofa and they both got to their feet. “Undress. Now,” was all Temple said but they desperately reached for each other’s trouser buttons, grinning at each other.
He had already felt Gilbert’s hard cock when he shamelessly groped him earlier, but as soon as they were naked, Temple couldn’t look away. He was breathless, and his fingers trembled when he reached for it to gently run a finger up the hard length. He heard Gilbert gasp for breath and quickly looked up to see him close his eyes, lips parted slightly. It was incredibly arousing to observe Gilbert give himself over to the pleasure as his fingers gently caressed his large member.
Gilbert seemed to force himself back to awareness. He resolutely pulled Temple down to straddle him as he sat back down on the sofa, one hand wandering to where Temple wanted it the most and the other on the small of his back to hold him close.
Temple stretched to reach the small flask on the side table, which he had made sure was within reach when he arrived, and poured oil into his hand. His breath was fast in his chest, and he couldn’t wait to see the Watcher’s long, thick cock slick and ready.
Gilbert held out two fingers for Temple to pour oil on. Then he oiled his fingers and held Temple close, but gasped deliciously when Temple began to massage him slowly and rhythmically.
“I dreamt of this,” Temple said softly, almost scared when he realised he had said it out loud.
“I did too.” Gilbert slowly let his oiled finger trail in between his buttocks. “I’ve had dreams of watching you pleasure yourself, or riding me, or begging me to fuck you.” His finger began to softly circle the entrance and press gently to be let in.
Temple sighed softly in pleasure. “I dreamed of tasting your cock or begging you to fuck me,” he whispered while his hands worked. One massaging Gilbert’s balls, the other slicking his cock up. His breath was fast in his throat, and he subtly tightened his grip when Gilbert’s finger found entry, working back and forth slowly while his other hand held him steady.
Not letting go of him, Temple leaned closer for a breathless kiss. When it ended, they held each other’s gaze, each feeling the heaving and fast breath in the other’s chest. Temple just sat there, hands closed tightly on Gilbert’s cock and balls, while the Watcher’s fingers teased and slow-fucked him, close to driving him to the brink.
“No, stop,” he gasped and leaned closer to bite the Watcher’s ear, pushing lustfully back against his fingers. “Stop. I can’t…”
He felt the laughter in the other man’s chest more than he heard it, and Gilbert slowly withdrew his fingers, placing his strong hands on Temple’s buttocks. He had to grip the Watcher’s shoulder with one hand while he slowly lifted himself up, guiding the man’s cock with the other as they held each other’s gaze. Gilbert’s breath was warm and fervent against his skin, and his member jerked in Temple’s grip.
“Slowly,” Gilbert whispered.
Temple just gave a strangled gasp as the Watcher’s hot cock slid between his buttocks and slowly, slowly, Gilbert lowered him onto it so the thick tip was inside him, the strong grip forcing him not to hurry.
He gave a strangled cry at the delight of the invasion, and Gilbert tightened his grip and looked at him with an expression of pure lust.
“Can I trust you not to move?” the Watcher asked, short of breath.
Temple barely recognised the whimpering sound as his own voice, but the promise of pleasure that had invaded him was almost too much to bear.
“Can I trust you not to move?” Gilbert repeated, a smile in his breathless voice.
“Yes…” he finally managed, and the Watcher released his grip.
He let his hands slide up Temple’s sides to his chest, thumbs slowly caressing his nipples, which made him give a strangled moan. There was nothing he would rather do than impale himself fully on the Watcher’s cock and have him stoke Temple’s own while he rode him, but that was clearly not permitted right now. He felt the Watcher’s hands slide back down to caress his thighs, muscles tense and holding perfectly still.
“You are magnificent,” Gilbert said softly, and his hands wandered up to gently caress Temple’s cock.
If he opened his mouth now, he wouldn’t be able to say anything coherent, but the words and the touches warmed him. He didn’t know how to reciprocate, but he had a feeling the Watcher knew when their eyes met. Then Gilbert’s large hands came to rest on Temple’s hips in a firm grip, and he slowly pressed him down to sit on his thick member.
Temple tightened his grip on his muscular shoulders and moaned in pleasure when he was finally impaled, connected, united in lust with a man who had always been both honest and decent towards him.
“Slowly,” Gilbert reminded him again, but it was hardly more than a gasped moan now. The hands holding Temple’s hips trembled slightly.
Being denied the right to move, only being able to sit there and feel the throbbing member inside him, was incredibly erotic. Temple had never felt anything like it. His breath was heaving, and he was sure he would come within a few seconds if the Watcher let him move or caressed his cock. His hands slowly went from Gilbert’s shoulders and scratched their way down through the light-brown hairs of his muscular chest, over his hard abdominal muscles.
Gilbert grinned at him, green eyes fevered with lust, and then one of his hands gripped the back of Temple’s neck. “You wanted this when we kissed at the bar.” He looked at Temple as if for permission.
“Harder, please,” Temple pleaded. “Harder. I can’t…” When the Watcher tightened his grip, controlling Temple’s body with a hand on his hip and the back of his neck, Temple gave a wordless cry and his hands tightened on Gilbert’s sides, digging desperately into his flesh.
“Do it. Ride me.” The grip on his hip lessened and with a whimper, Temple finally raised himself up and then took the Watcher’s thick cock again in a moaning, feverish rhythm that couldn’t continue for long.
And then Gilbert laid his large hand on Temple’s cock and began to stroke him, gently at first, but he quickly tightened his grip, staring greedily at him. “Let me see you,” he panted. “Don’t hold back. Look at me.”
Temple quickened the pace, the Watcher’s cock sliding in and out of him, and the large hand on his own member caressed him to a point of madness. But it was the look of fierce hunger in Gilbert’s eyes when they looked at each other that finally made his pleasure climax, and he surrendered fully to the joy of it, waves and waves of pleasure crashing through him, while he clung to the Watcher’s shoulders as if the maelstrom would tear him under if he didn’t.
And then, just as the waves began to recede, Gilbert held him close, thrust into him hard for the last time, and then pulled out with a wordless cry as his hot seed spilt all over Temple’s backside.
They clung to each other, panting, hot and sticky for a long time, neither moving.
Then, a warm, close, intimate eternity later, when their breath was returning to normal, Temple slumped even more and let his lips rest on Gilbert’s neck, where he could feel the pulse hammering. He sighed with pleasure when the Watcher’s hand gently caressed the back of his neck, and as he slowly became more aware of his surroundings, he found himself pressing gentle kisses to Gilbert’s throat. He’d never had anything that could compare to this in intensity and pleasure. He had only ever experienced quick chance meetings where the kisses meant nothing, and release was all there was.
…Not that these kisses meant anything, he reminded himself, and forcibly disentangled from the warm and safe embrace.
“Wait.” Gilbert grabbed his arm as he got up and looked up at him seriously. “We’re not done with each other, are we?”
It felt like doing violence on himself when he forced his voice not to reply, but he also knew that the damned Watcher could see that, because he smiled tentatively, as if he was hopeful. Maybe? He let go of Temple’s arm with a gentle caress.
“Meet me again,” Gilbert said quietly. “Tomorrow, the day after, whenever suits you.”
Temple nodded noncommittally, heart thundering in his chest, and quickly walked over to the washstand, wrung out a cloth in the warm water, and threw it to the Watcher before he cleaned himself up too. Then he went to find his undershorts on the floor and began to get dressed. A repeat? He wanted it. Gilbert wanted it. He pulled his trousers on and looked for his shirt. Why shouldn’t they repeat this? It had… he was still… It would definitely figure as a very warm fantasy the second he tried to sleep; he knew it. He looked at the Watcher, who was pulling on his undershorts.
But then, if they did repeat it, what would happen? How did this work?
Gilbert hid a grin and pulled his trousers on. “I didn’t mean to, ehm, worry you. We can meet anywhere you feel comfortable, but I would really like to meet you again,” he said, finding his shirt on the floor and pulling it on. He looked almost presentable again, if a little fevered still. “Maybe you can just let me know? You know where to find me,” he said softly. Then he smiled and caressed Temple’s arm lightly as he walked past and left the room.
Temple exhaled heavily. He thought he would be happy being left alone, but he wasn’t. And he had no idea what to do with that fact.