Dolorosa was a festival of grief. ‘Festival’ wasn’t the right word, but Ainjir had no term Nika would accept for it, so it had to do.
Like many of his traditions, Nika had introduced Cole to Dolorosa at the Capitol. Despite having grown up there, and despite the Capitol’s well-mixed population, Cole had never actually participated in many Midraeic occasions – and certainly not the obviously spiritual ones. Nika had made his introductions of Midraeic customs and beliefs and slowly, but, he had told Cole, there was no helping Dolorosa. It simply was what it was, and either Cole would understand or wouldn’t.
Virtue’s Tits did Cole not understand!
Thanks to Nika, he knew the outline of the Midraeic story, so he knew where they were when the orators started – the messengers of god come down to console the prophet’s mother by telling her of his suffering and death. It all seemed very… primal, to Cole: the great crowd, on its knees, the story being ritually recited, the instruments and scents of burning offerings and ceremonial foods. And then a great wailing started, as if some ten in the crowd as one drew their very guts out with the sound, and quickly ten became twenty, which became forty, which became the whole crowd, weeping, screaming, pounding their own flesh and tearing their clothes, casting pleading hands to the sky or beating fists against the ground.
It was appalling, and unsettling. The Ainjir were a passionate people – every story had its moment of pathos, in which it sought the cries of the crowd to match those of its heroes – but this was like nothing he had seen. He had tried to hide his reaction, just out of politeness, but he failed – and Nika had laughed at him.
Now, Nika turned away from Cole to face the surface-still waters of the ponds above Stag Lake. Underneath great currents rushed, but the tawny light of the sinking sun made bronze mirrors of the waters’ surface, in which nothing could be seen.
Nika stumbled before the edge, but did not return to stand. Haltingly, he went to his knees before the water, fighting to stand – failing. Like the waters, he asked, if he sank into those feelings, would he rise again? It was hard to go willingly, yet that was what the occasion demanded – and he needed to. God, he needed to feel all the things that, for years, he had strangled away, to stay standing. He did not want to stand.
He had been standing so long.
But if he sank, would he drown?
No – there were things here that he wanted, and things left to do.
But he could drown for the moment. For the moment, maybe it was allowable for the guilt, and sorrow, and anger that flowed through him like his own blood to seep through his skin to the surface. Maybe, for the moment, it could stop feeding the beating of his heart, and instead squeeze out like air through choked lungs, ride tears pushed through clenched-shut eyes. Maybe.
Surely it felt like he would drown. It was dangerous to be alone for Dolorosa. He wiped a hand under his eye, felt a laugh lift his chest, because it didn’t matter – he couldn’t do it alone.
“I can’t remember the fucking words,” Nika said, face pointed to the sky.
“The Lamentation?” Cole asked, standing soldier-like, a few feet behind him.
Nika nodded, and cast his gaze down again.
“That’s because it’s poetry,” Cole replied, and then he said it for him.
What did you see, Sorrowful Mother,
in the dark of that holy night,
when the blessed light of God
shone for none but thee?
Why, when so blessed, did the Mother weep,
did she beat her breast when safe away
she lay far from the sorrows of the world?
Why, for she to whom God drew so near,
Was nearness not enough?
She said,
Every son of every mother dies,
But this one is mine
That death embraces all does not change
that I embraced this one
Likewise death comes once, his death is his death,
but my love is love
Apiece with the love of God for all creation,
and cannot be diminished or divided.
Back then, Nika had laughed at his reaction, then at the absurdity of his objections, then laughed specifically at Cole until Cole felt sorry for himself for loving such a cruel person. But eventually, he understood.
He had totally missed the point. He hadn’t really been listening to the story. It wasn’t that they grieved for their prophet, who had, after all, prophesied his own death, or that they went through such wild emotions to emulate or sympathize with his mother. The messengers of a heretofore-unspeaking god revealed their ethereal selves before the holy mother to offer her comfort, solace in the knowledge that her son’s first prophecy had come true and all was as it should be. The Prophet’s Holy Mother told the ethereal messengers to either perform a miracle, and get her to her son’s side so she could do something, if only comfort him, or fuck right off with their messages.
Dolorosa was the festival of She Who Berated God, and represented the truth of the promises of love and nearness, even to a god: life would happen regardless. Life was suffering and ended in death and at the end, all that is left is yourself, in light of things which happened regardless of good or bad or belief or disbelief. As the prophet’s mother mourned before god, Dolorosa was the moment at which the people of Midras confronted and grieved their suffering. During it, they celebrated and expiated the shared pains and short joys of life. Whatever might be said of the Midraeic God, and his Prophet, their philosophy was meant for living, and it was born in trials.
Once Cole understood, Nika had stopped laughing and taken him in his arms. Nika had said that what they had was among the things that happened, regardless – that he was there, and would be there, long after it was wise or proper. They were together, in that dangerous balance of life and death given to all humanity, but also specifically to each other.
This Dolorosa, their togetherness was all they had.
Too much had happened since the last time Nika had participated in Dolorosa. His hands gripped the edge of the rocky edge of the pond, stone digging into his knees. It was terribly hard to go willingly into those feelings again, but in truth, when everything had happened, he hadn’t felt them. There was so much to account for – the whole of the war was only the start – and the death of Abban…
He should have felt guilty. He should have felt miserable and beaten and sorry, but since laying down his sword at Cole’s feet, he struggled more against relief. There was so much guilt to be had, he ought to feel guilty more than he felt safe, more than he felt happy, more than he felt glad to know that he was afraid to feel sorry for himself because he wanted to be here, with Cole, while he still could. Glad more than sorry that he would get to see Cole before it all ended in blood and tears. Nika had done far more than he could expect forgiveness for, more than foolishness, pride, or his intentions might excuse, and yet, here he was – if not forgiven, excused, and if not excused, then allowed to be here, with Cole, who lived. God, Cole could be as angry with him as he liked, as long as he was angry and alive.
It had never been a game to him, but he admitted war was a very dangerous game. He was just glad it was over, however it came out for him.
A selfish and needy thought – as selfish as his happiness. The thought of one who’s mistakes killed his youngest brother. He should have marked his faults better before he began all this, but then, what time was there for that? What should he have done? What changes did he fail to make? What had he been supposed to do?
Grief was an unstructured event; the words of the Lamentation gave it paths to follow, but it raged over him like a fire. A flash of memory, Abban as a child, laughing, spoiled with love, grave as a student, observant and quiet in ways that escaped Nika even when on his best behavior, and Nika felt his body crushed. His back bent, his forehead met the cool, wet stone, and his hands wandered over his neck, holding himself down as if to muffle the wailing grief pouring out of him.
He had fucked up. Nothing could be done to fix it. Abban wasn’t even the beginning of his mistakes, but it struck hardest, like an arrow to the chest. His was the face of a hundred dead, but Nika could hardly bear to grieve the one. He had betrayed, he had killed, and he had failed, and all for what?
For what? For his plans, that were so much better? For himself, so much smarter? For his people, his religion, his God, so much greater? What were any of those things? He could not say, and the pain moved so quickly through him he soon realized he could hardly think of them, think of anything, except how much it hurt. How much it hurt, and how little he understood. How much greater everything that had happened was than his small pains, and that he could not withstand even those.
But hadn’t he tried? God, hadn’t he tried? Hadn’t it hurt all the way through trying, and then, when he had failed anyway, he kept trying? Why couldn’t it have been enough?
Why had any of it happened at all?
Why?
The words ran out long before Nika’s grief did. All there was to do was wait.
After the recitations, there were ritual steps to take – bathing, cleansing, drinking, eating. Cole could only half remember them, and with the state of the camp, had to have his staff improvise many of the pieces before they had arrived. Nika finally raised himself up to sit back on his heels, staring up into the now much more orange sky, then stood, as if his joints ached.
Nika had to do more directing than was usual, and, of course, sometimes the things Cole brought out – like warm rose-honey wine – were perfect, and some – like the stewed parsnips instead of black beans (white was a much more funereal color than black for the Ainjir) less so. By the end, the sun touched the tree tops, the sky was taking on the burn blue of the early evening, and Nika had started to laugh again.
There were a few steps of the rites that got rather shortchanged, as the second cleansing was supposed to clear the way for the major replenishment, but once they had entered the pool, they didn’t get back out, so the customary feasting got a bit haphazard. Cole hadn’t found bitter milk, and had brought brandy as a substitute, but Nika stuck with the rose-honey wine.
“Where did you get this, anyway?” Nika said, raising his mug.
Cole shrugged, which did excellent things to his broad shoulders. “It’s good.”
“It’s very Midraeic, and very… festive,” Nika replied.
“Things have been tough for Midraeic people at the Capitol,” Cole said. “I like to support the old vendors.”
Nika nodded – there was next some traditional bread and the like – and on being reminded, Cole turned, putting palms flat on the rock bank to life himself out of the pool, but Nika’s hand tracking down the small of his back stopped him. He sank back down, turning to face Nika, who sipped his mug, barely out of the water, as if he had done nothing. Much of the rest of the ritual suddenly became a list they mentioned.
“Why did you bring carrots, though?” Nika asked.
Cole had allowed himself some of the brandy, and he let out a sharp breath after taking a sip, setting his mug on the bank. “I got what I could get. And it seemed… memorable.”
“I thought you would say ‘appropriate’,” Nika replied, watching Cole lift a truly massive one from the pile he had brought over.
Cole grinned at him, pushing away from the bank to float over to Nika’s rocky seat. Holding a hand to his chest to keep Cole at bay, Nika drained his mug and leaned back to set it on the shore. He slipped from his seat into the water, treading and watching Cole like a predator watches prey.
“Don’t bring that thing anywhere near me.”
Cole frowned theatrically at the carrot in his hand, then took a bite, face the picture of utmost innocence. He held it out between them, tipping his chin up towards Nika.
Nika watched him as if there would be a test later. Briefly, his hands reach back to feel at the shelf of the bank behind him, then, holding to the slick stone, he leaned forward, and took a bite of the carrot himself. Frowning slightly, he turned and spit it onto the shore, and when he turned back, Cole floated just in front of him, almost touching.
“A little bitter,” Nika said, refusing to move back.
Cole pushed forward in the water; Nika sank, slightly, to look up into Cole’s face. He pushed forward again, and their bodies met, but now Nika leaned back, so they just missed kissing. So this time, Cole leaned down, pressed his lips to Nika’s just above the water’s surface. He wrapped his arm around Nika’s chest, holding their bodies together, and pushed forward the last time.
Nika’s hand slipped from their awkward grip on the ledge behind him, falling in the water with a splash. Cole reached over his shoulder, and put the carrot on the shore, then grabbed the ledge with both hands and pulled. Nika’s back hit the stone, and they paused – Nika still looking up, eyes searching Cole’s face.
For his part, Cole saw nothing, but the glittering green spots in Nika’s brown eyes, felt nothing but their bodies against one another – he even forgot, somehow, the slapping of the water against the rocks, as the held their somewhat awkward position. With any good luck, there would soon be a different slapping noise to enjoy.
But it was Nika’s to start. Things had been so difficult, and grave, and… intense, but they were used to this intensity, and grief did strange things to the mind sometimes. It was… a special occasion, Nika thought, and then realized he didn’t want to think anymore.
Nika brought his knees up in the water and wrapped his legs around Cole’s waist. Pushing his arms through the ring of Cole’s arms and the shore, he threw them over Cole’s shoulders, and kissed him. Obedient to the call, Cole pulled them tighter against the shore – though there was no purchase for his feet, he had the strength to hold them there with his arms.
The stone raked Nika’s back and he broke the kiss to groan. He shut his eyes and drew his legs tight, dipping a hand down to rearrange things so he could feel the gentle pressure of working himself over Cole’s hips. Slowly, Cole let them down, and drew tight again, each press of the hard stone into Nika’s back drawing quiet, desperate noises of need, too sight to be moans, from his throat. Between these, he kissed Cole, searching for something yet more unyielding than the rock against his back.
His heels dug into the small of Cole’s back, and Cole’s arms burned with the effort it took to keep up the cycle of pressing and releasing, but he wouldn’t stop until they gave out or Nika indicated he wanted some other kind of pleasure. He shifted to bring his forearms up onto the shore, finding for a moment some submerged rock he could just reach with the toes of one foot, and pressed the breath from Nika’s lungs with one sharp shove. But he couldn’t find the rock again and slipped to his chin into the water.
Nika’s sharp groan soon turned into a growl – he shoved Cole back, turning quickly to face the shore and drag himself from the pool. He turned on his knees at the edge to pull Cole’s face up for a kiss, but then left off to let Cole scramble out after him.
Pulling himself on shore, Cole bowled into Nika, still on his knees by the edge, knocking him onto his back. Cole stretched out over him, body lying on body – this, too, was unyielding stone against Nika’s back, even more so when Cole forced his hand between them, finding and massaging Nika’s balls, and – even more quickly, and with expertise wrought by experience – reached a finger back to rub against his asshole.
By reflex, Nika brought his knees up, to allow easier access, grinding the bones of spine into the ground where it curved. The pain caused him to roll his head back, throwing a hand up above it to search for purchase in the ground. Cole sank soft teeth into his throat, kissing and nipping at the top of his shoulder, the jut of his collarbone, raising a hand up in turn to trap Nika’s wrist against the ground. Nika’s other hand seized Cole’s short hair, but only to draw fingers through it, pressing gently for him to continue.
These times were hard, because it was Cole who had to be careful, or Nika, who usually kept himself tightly bound to his pleasure, so startlingly aware – to the point where, when they first got together, Cole had to persuade him to close his eyes when they kissed, because it was creepy if he kept them open – if he wasn’t careful, Nika would let himself get hurt. Nika gave himself up very rarely, but completely. Cole was a fine, easy, attentive lover – that is, with a partner who communicated – or rather, who had reasonable limits. Nika didn’t seek pain, but he also didn’t mind it, as long as he was getting what he wanted.
And he wanted Cole to fuck him, right now.
A fact he made evident as he shifted his hips, to encourage Cole’s finger to stop searching and start finding. This was tempting, and through the usual fog of pleasure, Cole worked for a way to give Nika what he wanted, and keep giving him all of his favorite things – the closeness, the pressure, the feeling of being up against something unmoveable.
Cole lifted himself away from Nika, on hands and knees reaching for the little basket by the pond’s edge, which held all the various material he had gathered for the ritual. Denied, for the moment, any closeness, Nika rolled onto his side, making a tangle of their legs, and seized the rolling flask of brandy Cole had knocked loose in his hasty search. He propped himself up on his elbows to drink, and by the time he brought the flask down, Cole was back, kissing his sweet, still-burning mouth.
One-handed, Nika closed the flask, and set it aside as Cole pushed him back into the ground, covered him again, re-settled his warm, searching hand – and slipped his longest finger inside. A noise escaped Nika’s throat, but he choked it down, seizing the back of Cole’s neck with both hands to hold him to a kiss to help stifle it.
This time, Cole had come prepared; his finger was slick with oil, in amounts generous enough to trickle down, tickling as it made its way down towards Nika’s back, raising skin to gooseflesh. Again,, Nika raised his knees, hooked legs around Cole’s back, and insisted – with a rather painful jab to the kidneys – he get to work.
Instead, Cole broke Nika’s hold on his neck, bear hugged his chest, and lifted, until he sat back on his heels, with Nika resting on his thighs. The unexpected move caused a frown to pass over Nika’s face, which relented when Cole reached around his back to replace his finger. Nika shifted out of his awkward squat, letting his weight rest on Cole’s thighs, leaning back into Cole’s arms so he could roll his hips along with the push of Cole’s fingers, his cock dragging on Cole’s stomach. Nika’s hands came to Cole’s shoulders, gripping hard, as he made the motion more intense – Cole shifted his thighs apart, to make room, as his cock rose and hardened.
The awareness that Cole’s cock was there – and ready, he could feel it – sucked the pleasure out of this position for Nika. They could make use of it here, but that wasn’t what he wanted – but what he wanted was a bit fuzzy. So he let Cole know his dissatisfaction with an unhappy expression, which Cole smiled into, worsening it.
Gently, Cole put hands on Nika’s hips and suggested he lift – which he did – and less gently Cole insisted he turn to face the other way – which took more rearranging of limbs, and earned a glare or two, but which he also did – and even less gently, Cole pulled him back down, pushed his upper back forward, so Nika leaned away from him, carefully aligned himself, then pulled Nika onto his cock.
Nika gritted his teeth – Cole sighed with tense pleasure, but stopped – he was tight. It had been a while. But when Cole stopped, Nika began to push himself, a high, quiet moan escaping, until he felt Cole flush against his ass. Then he pushed again, as if there was more to take, and lifted, and began to work over Cole’s cock in earnest.
At another time, in another world, or maybe with another person, Cole might have stopped him, sure it was too much, too quickly, especially if it had been as long as he assumed. It certainly felt that long, as Nika’s body held him in a death grip. But, alas – this was now, and he was with Nika, who didn’t care, and could hardly be persuaded to stop, especially by Cole, who had no real desire for him stop.
Soon Nika was reaching back, encouraging Cole’s hands to rest on him, on hips and shoulders, and then encouraging them to pull on him, as his body finally started to relax around Cole’s cock. When a particularly hard drop of Nika’s ass against his hips tore first a slight groan, then a growl, from his throat, Cole leaned forward, catching Nika in his arms and holding him still – and filled – against Cole’s body.
Lifting with shaking thighs, Cole held Nika still against him with one arm looped tight around his waist, the other directing his arm to the ground to the hold them up. Once Nika was on hands and knees, Cole nudged his knees farther apart, and took over thrusting, chest pressed to Nika’s back. Nika gasped at the first few jarring, slapping drives of Cole’s cock, then steadied himself to push back, finding a rhythm that let him meet Cole’s strength with his own.
Cole’s stomach burned, first with effort of driving his cock into Nika, then with the frightening heat of wanting to come – but not yet. They weren’t teenagers anymore; he could last. But Nika was coming close, too, as his arms started to shake, then to collapse under Cole’s weight, his breath sharp, needful gasps. Cole had reinforced Nika’s arms with his own, and now, as Nika went down his elbows, Cole turned that support into a hard grasp. Nika laid his forehead on the stone, and Cole wrapped an arm under his to take a fistful of the hair at the back of his head, not pushing, but holding him there, so as Nika’s resistance gave Cole’s thrusts wouldn’t drag him against the rock. Relying on this for support, Cole reached around with other hand, wrapping his palm around Nika’s weeping cock.
Nika took in a sharp breath, twisting as if to stop him, stilling both their hips, only to push into Cole’s warm grasp, drawing Cole’s cock out as he did. The required a new rhythm, a slower one, though no less forceful, as Cole first drove his cock into Nika, pushing Nika’s cock forward into his hand, then pulling nearly free on the way back. Each movement drove a soft moan out of Nika’s throat, which soon hissed through his teeth as he started to urge them to work faster, hit harder.
Suddenly, he tore Cole’s grip from his hair, brought his hand down to sink teeth into the thick of his thumb, dropping the support of his other arm so that he could hold Cole’s hand in place, tight around his cock – that was enough signal. Using his legs to help, Cole thrust hard, Nika’s teeth sinking further into his hand as he built speed. He was going to come, and his hands tightened against Nika’s jaw, around his cock, and Nika made a wanting noise – a sort of permission granted – and Cole poured into him over the last few thrusts.
Sucking in breath, draped over Nika’s back, Cole realized his hand was rather sticky – he hadn’t been paying too much attention to that. And it was hot, he realized, as Nika squirmed under him, getting turned around to rest on his back. That looked nice – the stretch of Nika’s body under his, bruised through it might be, and he was tempted to kiss it, but if he let himself down at all he wouldn’t be able to push back up.
He looked up into Nika’s eyes, looking down. Nika smiled, placing a kiss at the bottom of Cole’s palm and rubbing Cole’s hand between his apologetically. “You would have stopped me before this.”
He was referring to the dark marks of his teeth in Cole’s palm – and that Cole was kind of a weakling about pain during sex.
Cole shrugged, feeling his shoulders burn, and at least let himself down enough to sigh hot breath over Nika’s torso, and trace through the sweat with his finger. “You would have made me fight you for this,” Cole said, coincidentally as his finger ran through something sticky on Nika’s stomach.
Nika actually looked a little embarrassed – the surprises would never cease. “Well,” Nika said, “you did win the war.”
Cole brought himself up so he could kiss Nika, tongue buried deep, bodies pressed together over sweat and come and stone. Finally, he pulled away.
“Then let the discussion of terms continue”
“We have to go down the mountain.”
“It's not a mountain. At best, a hill.” Nika rolled onto his back, legs in the air to slide his pants back on.
Cole flopped on the shore of the little pond, still only haphazardly clothed, with not a single button fastened. “I cannot tell you how much I do not want to go down the mountain.”
Nika frowned at him in upside-down disapproval as he scooted his pants up over his hips. “Quit whining. We’re going to run out of light. Those steps are dangerous even in full light. And do you think I want to go down the hill?”
“You know there's an army camp down there that thinks I'm a general?” Cole was pouting, lazing, and generally lolly-gagging, and they actually might not make it down the hill if it got seriously dark before Nika could persuade him to act his age. Then again, Nika didn't particularly want to act his age himself.
They weren’t teenagers anymore, but they had years of missing intimacy to make up for. It wasn’t all about coming – there were many other satisfying acts to perform – but they had made a truly valiant sally towards making up the numbers.
Nika rolled to his feet, fastened his pants back on, and swept his jacket from the ground. The thing had half a dozen new rips every time he took it off, and another dozen every time he put it on, but at least it didn't have a million buttons on it like Cole's did. On second thought, he retrieved Cole's jacket as well, walking over to the lump of a man and kneeling beside him. Nika tried to ignore Cole's satisfied smile as he pulled Cole's clothes on straight and began fastening his buttons.
“Precisely why, sir, you need to get down th–”
Nika's words ground to a halt under Cole's lips, and launching his assault like a cavalry man, Cole drove Nika back with his kiss. Nika's butt hit the ground, and then his back, until they lay hips over hips. A sharp sigh from Nika interrupted them only briefly, serving more as encouragement than plea for pause; his back was only so sore because he liked Cole pressing it hard to stone so much – as Cole had well remembered, and of which he had taken full advantage.
Nika's hands ran down Cole's sides, stopping with sure grip against hipbones to pull him closer. Cole kissed, propped on elbows by Nika's head. Earlier satisfaction gave them patience – a rare gift for both of them. There they remained for long minutes, absorbed in each other.
Eventually Nika turned his face away, ignoring the pleasant pull of Cole's continued kisses running down his neck to open jacket, to collarbone... with much difficulty he cleared his throat, easing himself to sitting.
“Cole...”
Cole stopped Nika's hips before he could slide them out from under his body. Carefully, he switched his position, setting a knee on either side of Nika's legs and sitting over Nika's lap. He ran hands up Nika's chest pulling him close.
“I do not want the rising sun,
Oh, do not let the world go on,
if day-by-day, oncoming light,
takes from me my heart's delight.”
Nika blushed, though it was getting hard to see in the dark. Cole planted a kiss on his hot cheek. They both knew they had to stop.
It was Nika's grip that lingered a moment longer, holding Cole where he was. They both let go. With much reluctance, Cole stood, offering a hand down to help Nika up. They brushed dirt away from each other and Cole retrieved the supplies he had brought up to the pond with him. He stopped at Nika's side before the steps, planting a kiss on his lover's neck as they both stared down at the camp.
“To the Capitol,” Nika said.
Cole ran a hand through Nika's hair, kissing his cheek in desperate press – a promise of protection.
“To the Capitol,” he agreed.
Nika raised his hand and waved to Guy, waiting half-way down the hill under a bright lantern.
“What are you? A couple of teenagers?” Guy yelled.
Nika and Cole grinned.
“I could hear you, you know,” Guy said, voice quieter.
“Oh, you could?” replied Cole, “Then you must have heard the shouting. How embarrassing for you to know how your superior's cock makes his lover shout.”
Nika didn't in particular like the implication that he 'shouted', but Cole gave him a conciliatory stroke on the back and a smile indicating he knew exactly how to make Nika shout, and could therefore get away with such statements. Argument would be met with proof.
“Oh, yeah,” Guy snorted, loud enough it could probably be heard down in the camp, “the shouting I heard: 'Yes, yes, give me your tiny thing. It's so cute.' Or, 'No, I swear that's average size.'”
“Poor Guy,” Cole turned to Nika, shaking his head. “The only man in the army that can't pretend his bunkmate is the one he desires.”
“I like curvy, soft, bouncy things!” Guy replied, not-entirely-mock frustration in his voice. “How can you ignore something that would stick out like that! And have you seen the shoulders on military men? Guh... give me a woman, someone soft, and pretty, and long-haired, and sweet-tasting and flowery-smelling...”
Other details were lost as Guy made sundry descriptive gestures in his little patch of lantern-lit ground. Nika and Cole scrambled down the side, picking their way towards Guy. As they slid down the last step, Guy turned to face them with a put-upon expression, but not in time to see the vengeful grin Nika shared with Cole.
“Poor Guy,” Nika reiterated, “a young man of many talents in the military, faithful only to women.”
Guy was too busy looking deserving of pity to notice Cole's spectator's stance.
“Captain Guy,” Nika said, stepping forward. He put a hand on the back of Guy's neck, watching the young man pale in spite of himself. “You're a man of rising rank...”
Guy nodded warily. Nika smiled his predatory smile, but when Guy turned back to Cole for help, all he received was Cole's snickering.
“A respectable young man with a bright future, needful of a woman,” Nika said, squeezing Guy's neck as they turned towards the camp. “You know, I have sisters.”
Guy made sound akin to choking. Cole laughed, nodding along. “Lots of sisters,” Cole said.
“Five sisters,” Nika concluded, his smile from canine to canine. “I say, it might not be popular today, but you're a man of tomorrow, secure in your career, steady income. Have you considered converting?”