To Forgive

 
 
 
Chapter Two

 
 
 
 
The pawnbroker was dazzled by the huge, rare jewels that Ashley tendered, and for only five of them, Ashley received almost forty silver pieces, which was all the money the pawnbroker himself had just then to invest. He also threw in the requested small can of oil for free. Ashley thanked him and made for the inn, knowing that he could have gotten three times the amount for the stones in Valendia, but was nevertheless grateful.

 
The inn was also a tavern, with rooms for rent in its upper story, and a stable in the back. He spotted Sydney out by the small wooden shelter and walked out to meet him.

 
"What news, Sydney?"

 
"I’ve stepped in horseshit. And you forgot to take that damned friar’s cord off! Everyone will think us clergymen. Do you want to be a monk so badly?"

 
Ashley smiled and handed the oilcan to the rain-soaked ‘Gerenian’ sojourner and asked, "How much is a room, and the ferry?"

 
"The ferry is not operational, because the river has been icing over slightly. It is closed for an early winter. And there is only one horse for sale, and only one room to rent, with only one bed."

 
"Is this the horse?" he pointed to the single inhabitant of the stable, determined not to let himself be bothered by the news. They were extremely lucky to have what they were offered.

 
"Yes. A fast mare—and well-behaved, I’m told."

 
"Well, she’ll serve our purpose. Let’s go inside. I’ve had my fill of rain."

 
They ate meals in great haste at the tavern, then paid for and took to their room. Their false clothes appeared dry, but their bodies were getting colder by the minute. Once inside their lodgings, however, they were in a quandary. They had to take off their soaking wet clothes. And thereafter sleep naked together in the same bed.

 
"Well, we’re both men, so it’s not unduly indecent." Ashley commented, noticing only after he spoke that Sydney had already taken off his shoulder guards and was moving to his trousers.

 
"Does this bother you?" Sydney asked, his scarred back facing Ashley.

 
Ashley started on his own garments. "No. And it’s only for tonight, in any case."

 
Sydney finished disrobing, and laid his clothes carefully out by the hearth and lit a fire. Ashley set his wet garments down beside them when he was also done, then climbed into bed. Sydney did not immediately join him, but sat by the fire and oiled his fingers.

 
Ashley was not awake when Sydney climbed into bed next to him. The next thing he was aware of was feather soft skin brushing and rubbing up against him, and sweet young lips kissing him fully and deeply on the mouth. He smelled Tia. And when he opened his eyes he saw her, naked and opened underneath him, smiling and waiting for to to enter her.

 
He tangled his fingers in her hair and nuzzled her chin teasingly, then kissed her forcefully, displaying his savage desire for her. He moved his hands to caress her sides, and lifted her hips, positioning his erection just in front of her entrance. He moved there slightly without penetrating her, back and forth, still teasing. He heard her moan…

 
"Ashley!"

 
He opened his eyes. Sydney.

 
He was on top of Sydney.

 
"You were dreaming again, Ashley," the smaller man said calmly.

 
"I’m sorry," Ashley stammered, rolling off of Sydney as quickly as he could. He was still dizzy with lust, and he couldn’t shake the images he’d just seen in his dream. Dream? His last nightmare had obviously been a dream, but this fantasy had entirely deceived him. And he knew he must have been dreaming this too—but he could have sworn Sydney had also been aroused.

 
"I was always taught that the Dark has no will of its own," Sydney said softly, "…that it is not itself an entity, just an energy to be directed and controlled. But I have personally found this to be false. It does communicate with people. In dreams."

 
Ashley was shaking with frustration and shame. "How do you know what it’s trying to point out? Why is this happening?"

 
"It might be very simple. But it may take to to find out. And dammit, I’ve scratched you again. Does it hurt?"

 
"Where?"

 
"Here." Sydney pointed to the base of his neck. "It isn’t very deep."

 
"I can scarcely feel it."

 
"There once was a time that these bladed fingers were useful; now they are only bothersome. And injurious to you."

 
"I could file them down tomorrow."

 
Sydney looked over at him. "Would you?"

 
"Of course." Ashley smirked, slightly surprised that Sydney had taken him seriously. "I wouldn’t want you to accidentally slice the horse’s reins."

 
Sydney gave a short chuckle, settling himself back down into the blankets. "Go back to sleep, Friar Riot. And try not to wake up dry-humping me again."

 
At this, Ashley’s embarrassment came back to him, and he said nothing more. He listened as the other man’s breathing calmed and slowed. He was thankful that Sydney had not questioned him about his dream, or taken offense. But he was tense, and in severe need of release. He hoped he wouldn’t have to continually fear sleep on account of troublesome dreams for very much longer.

 
For a few more hours he was unable to rest, but when he slept he did so very soundly. Sydney was the first one awake, in the blue minutes just before the dawn. He rose and dressed, then threw Ashley’s clothes at the bed, hitting the sleeping man square in the face.

 
"Rise and shine, daisy bell. Where’s your money?"

 
Ashley sat up quickly and tried to blink the heaviness of sleep out of his mind. "On the mantel. Why?"

 
"I’m fetching breakfast. Dress yourself."

 
Sydney, disguised, had the coinpouch and was out the door as soon as he finished speaking, so Ashley got up and put his dried clothes on. He sat on the bed for several minutes, but Sydney did not return.

 
Ashley re-lit the fire. Then he paced the floor; then he stared out the window. Then he sat back down on the bed. The morning was well underway; the world was brightly lit, and the village was awake. Ashley felt a fervent stirring in his groin. He was still agitated from last night’s sexual frustration.

 
He reached his hand down the front of his short pants, but he heard footsteps in the hall before he even had a chance to free his erection. He yanked his hand out from his clothes and put on his false appearance. Sydney walked in, carrying a bag, accompanied by the inn hostess who set two plates and a jar of milk on top of the fireplace mantel.

 
"I have brought a complementary breakfast for you and your page, Father."

 
"Thank you." Ashley smiled. Sydney was struggling to conceal a snicker.

 
The hostess curtsied and left. Sydney brought the milk and one of the plates and handed them to Ashley, who nodded thanks and took a drink. Sydney returned with his own portion, and sat on the bed next to his friend. Their breakfasts consisted of two fried eggs each. Extra runny.

 
"Would you pass the milk please, Father?" Sydney asked, smiling.

 
Ashley did as he asked, and gummed on his first bite of egg. "What took you so long, young cleric?"

 
"Well, she did have to fry these eggs for us, and she had several others to serve as well. So I did a little shopping while I waited." Sydney took a drink and passed the milk back.

 
"What did you purchase?"

 
"Soap. And a file. Also, I paid for the mare."

 
Ashley set his fork down for a moment and looked at Sydney, astonished. "What did the pawnbroker think when a friar’s page entered and requested a file?"

 
"I bought it from a carpenter. He made no inquiries. I paid my own money for it; don’t be troubled."

 
"Well, we won’t have time to file them down this morning. We should have left already. Daylight is precious."

 
"Stop worrying and drink your eggs. I bought soap because I mean to bathe. And if you don’t mind me saying so, you could use a washing also."

 
"…And a shave," Ashley added, rubbing at his whiskers.

 
"Right. Will we be following the river to Valendia?"

 
"That’s the fastest route. The river runs almost straight northwest, and drains nearby one of Valendia’s ports."

 
"We can wash off in the river then, on the way."

 
Ashley finished his eggs and drank some more of the milk. It was almost useless to try and eat them with a fork.

 
"It was thoughtful of you to buy soap. Thank you."

 
"I paid for it with your money."

 
Ashley ignored the facetiousness in his friend’s remark and replied thoughtfully. "That which is mine is yours also." He paused, then absently adjoined, "I only wish I had a razor.&;
;

 
"I have ten," Sydney quipped back, accepting the near-empty milk pitcher from Ashley. "They’re all yours."

 
Ashley changed the subject. "What’s it like outside?"

 
"Autumn."

 
"We’re buying you something more to wear before we leave."

 
 
 
The wind was still, even as close as they were to the river. Ashley slowed the horse and dismounted, then grabbed the shorter man’s wrist and helped him jump down. He secured the reins to a young tree, and watched Sydney from behind as he walked toward the river, peeling his new white cloak off over his head as he walked. Ashley thought again about how strange it seemed to see his companion’s back without the Rood Inverse. And about how strange it seemed to see him naked. He knew they would quite possibly be sharing quarters for some time; he would just have to become accustomed to it.

 
Sydney had already shucked his boots and trousers beside the bank by the time Ashley had removed only half of his clothing. His flinty dark arms seemed incongruoext ext to the striking whiteness of his skin. He was like a poplar tree, lordly and slender, whose topmost branched nod not match his trunk. Except that Sydney moved. And Sydney was warm.

 
As he removed the last of his own clothing, Ashley watched the other man climb with deliberate movements into the shallow of the stream, where he briefly submerged himself to wet his hair, then sat back up and waited. Ashley followed behind, bringing along the tiny, misshapen ball that was their soap.

 
Even though there were a few patches of ice on the surface, the water was actually warmer to the touch than the air. Since the seasons had changed so abruptly, the water temperature had not had time to catch up. Sydney didn’t ask to be washed, but Ashley knew he was unable to perform the task himself, so he just sat on his haunches in the water in front of him and waited for permission. When he received a nod, he moistened the soap and coated his fingers with it, then set the soap down on the grassy bank above where Sydney’s head rested.

 
He began with Sydney’s neck, massaging his soapy fingers gently up and down the back of it behind his hair, then the front and sides, before sliding down over both shoulders and up beneath near-hairless underarms. He stopped where metal began, moved to gather more soap on his hands, and used them to massage small circles of lather onto Sydney’s chest and stomach.

 
Ashley began to realize that he was being stared at. Sydney had hardly blinked at all since he’d started his bath. His eyes would meet Ashley’s sometimes, but more often they glazed all over him—not appraisingly, but with something more akin to curiosity, or concern, possibly even confusion. Ashley tried not to meet his friend’s baffling gaze, but he still felt eyes on him, soft and uncertain and the color of polished copper.

 
Sydney turned around suddenly, indicating that he would like his back washed. Ashley used the last of the soap on his hands to do so quickly, scrubbing a little more firmly now. As he reached to collect more soap, Sydney swiveled to face him again. Ashley brought his fingers cautiously up to trace along his comrade’s chin, jawline and cheekbones, then softly scrub the pale cheeks with his fingertips as Sydney finally closed his eyes. He washed his nose and brow and rubbed soapy water along his hairline, then got more soap and ran his fingers through the front and back of his hair. Sydney rose, moved deeper into the water, and immersed himself, while Ashley helped rinse the soap off by rubbing over areas where it gathered and stroking it out of his hair.

 
In a couple of seconds, Sydney rose to his feet. Ashley wiped the soap and water from his eyes, then knelt to clean his legs. He had to wait a moment for enough of the water to trickle from Sydney’s body before he was dry enough to wash. Sydney lifted each foot in turn for Ashley, qui quickly moved his way from feet to calves to thighs, then looked up for consent to go higher.

 
He saw that the curiosity in Sydney’s eyes had changed to an unassuming calmness, and now changed again to—recognition? Or forgiveness? He was gazing up into an unsolvable riddle. He found himself entranced for a moment, but he was jolted back to the task at hand when he earned another slight incline of Sydney’s head in approval, and he hastily washed his friend’s privates, both in front and back. When he was finished, Sydney backed up and rinsed off, and Ashley tried not to look back at him. He was startled when the other man spoke.

 
"Lather up your face."

 
Ashley paused, but did as he was asked, coating his face and neck with a layer of slick foam. Sydney approached, brandishing his right index finger comically, and began shaving Ashley before he even had time to react. It was over after a few quick strokes, and Sydney leaned over to rinse the suds off of his hand in the river. He was smiling now. And leaving.

 
"I can file my own left, but you’ll have to get my right when you’re finished washing," Sydney called over his shoulder as he left the water. Ashley remained and listened to the sounds of metal grating on metal as he bathed, then pulled himself out of the water and dried as best he could, wringing out his hair and brushing moisture off of his limbs and torso. After he haesseessed, he walked over to where Sydney was waiting. He was sitting up against a tree, oiling his hands—his left already filed.

 
Ashley took him by the right wrist, accepted the proffered file, and made quick work of the remaining hand, scraping the file back and forth evenly with great force. It amazed him how light Sydney’s arms were; they looked dense and heavy, but were as easy to lift as if they were made out of dry wood. He tested all of the fingers when he was finished, and ground the file across a few still-sharp places a couple more times before he stood up. Sydney followed behind him and put on his cloak while Ashley deposited their belongings back away in the saddlebag.

 
 
 
There were sparse patches of forest on either bank of the river for its entire length, so they opted to ride some distance away from the water so the trees would not hinder their movement. They traveled at a swift gallop, but not so fast as to exhaust the horse unduly. Sydney sat in back, his now-harmless fingers firmly holding onto Ashley’s waist. He was slim enough that they could both sit on a saddle made for one man, and still not be unreasonably cramped together. The land was hilly, but their horse was young and strong. They did not stop to rest until the sun was beginning to set.

 
Ashley drew a loaf and two apples that he’d purchased that morning out from their pack, sat down near Sydney, brokbroke the bread. His companion accepted his half, and they began to eat. They did not make a fire; they had decided earlier that they would stop for a short time only.

 
"How do you intend to simulate my death?"

 
Ashley started for a moment. For some reason, he hadn’t expected to hear human vocal chords working. They had both remained silent for most of the day, and Ashley was used to working and traveling alone. And his calves were so chafed from riding the horse without any leggings…

 
"Well? My father and I made a…suicide pact. Of sorts. Although on neither his part nor mine would there be suicide involved."

 
"How do you mean?"

 
Sydney, by a small degree, began to lose the proud tartness in his tone and composure, a dim cast of strange discomfort enfolding him. "He murders me, and then allows himself to perish. If I do not arrive there cer certain time thvenivening, he will die alone from his illness. Mine must be a complete death. My body and soul both must visibly surrender and dissolve."

 
"Can we not make a false image of you, and speak through it?"

 
"We could," he replied immediately. "But my father may not be so fooled. He has the Dark on his side, also. We would have to persuade him."

 
"You have that power. You can make anyone believe whatever you want them to."

 
"You have it also. But…" Sydney’s discomfort was no longer concealed at all. He squeezed his eyes and swallowed, and regained his composure with a slow breath. "…he will touch me. We have to make sure that our facsimile resembles me tactilely. And it must…be warm."

 
Ashley took out their small jug of honeymead and passed it to Sydney. "We will be able to do that?"

 
Sydney relaxed, or at least made a charade of relaxation. "It will be simple. I will help you when the time comes." He paused and looked up, but didn’t meet Ashley’s eye. "You…will be able to create such a facsimile from your own knowledge, since you have touched my body. You are familiar with the way that I feel."

 
Ashley was surprised to find himself struggling to not think about the way Sydney felt…underneath him, unperturbed and smooth and whispering…yes, he was indeed warm. And soft. He shook his head.

 
"It will take us at least two more hours to reach Valendia. How much time do we have before your father…departs?"

 
Sydney stopped just before the mead touched his lips. "We must go to him immediately after we reach town. We will arrive in time." He took a drink, then suddenly gave a strained smile. "And for god’s sake, we’re not ecclesiastics this time. If you wear that damned cord again, you’ll find it fastened around your neck."

 
 
 
Valendia was as dirty as ever. Ashley found it hard to believe it had only been one week since he had left. The city gates—cast iron, lofty, and dark with stain and rust—were guarded, although the sentries did not bother to stop anyone who was suspicious. They did, however, occasionally ask for names, especially in the evening.

 
"Nestor," Ashley replied, "and Horace.t;
t;

 
"Business?"

 
"Pilgrimage to the Cathedral of Valendia, to receive mass from the Cardinal, and the blessings of the holy relics."

 
At this point, the guard was supposed to have said ‘proceed,’ but he only nodded sluggishly. Ashley led the horse in through the portal, and Sydney walked behind. They headed straight to the nearest place of lodging.

 
As far as Ashley knew, inns didn’t have names anywhere but in ndiandia. If they had signs, they would say "Inn," and once in a great while they might bear the name of the proprietor. But Valendia was eternally captivated by commerce, so much that even her brothels had outlandish names. There was a fathomless count of artists working in the city: a handful of famous ones, and an ocean of dirt poor ones and their apprentices. The art trade was winding down from a sudden and long boom, and many men were shocked when they found themselves all at once unemployed when the market foundered not a decade ago. Hence these ridiculous signs bearing unbelievably absurd names; it was one of the only ways for a painter to line his pocket.

 
"We are not staying at ‘The Glorious Warbling Swan,’" Sydney insisted.

 
This inn also doubled as a tavern, with its ale house underground and rooms for rent above, and stairs leading diagonally down to the barroom. There was a privy in the back, accessible from the rooms. Despite the appalling name, it would not be an unpleasant place to stay.

 
"We must needs be quick. And it’s nearest us. Or would you rather lodge at the ‘Two-headed Sow’?"

 
Sydney jerked his head up with genuine indignation and looked around. "Where?" he demanded.

 
"I was joshing, Sydney," Ashley chuckled, as he turned and walked briskly into the building to reserve their night’s quarters. Sydney stayedtheitheir mount, and waited for Ashley to return before they both headed further northwest toward the Graylands, the aristocratic precinct of the city.

 
 
 
The Duke indeed was ailing. He was dreadfully pale; his voice was thin. You could almost hear him dying.

 
The two men were observing from the rooftop, peering down into roo room where their faux-Sydney was gently consoling the drawn old man as the last of him was consumed by disease. Ashley was kneeling at Sydney’s right side, straining to hear the conversation going on below.

 
For some reason, he couldn’t hear Sydney. He heard everything the Duke was saying, but the decoy made no sound. Puzzled, he looked to the man beside him, and decided that Sydney must be concealing the words from his ears alone. It must be a private matter between father and son; none of Ashley’s business.

 
But something bothered him. He smelled something unusual. As he was trying to decipher that it was and what it meant, Sydney suddenly wantonly draped his arm behind Ashley’s neck, tilted into him and kissed him with abandon.

 
Hard and inhospitable. Disgust coiled in Ashley’s innards. There was something terribly wrong. And it wasn’t just the fanatical bizarreness of the gesture, or the fact that it was entirely unprovoked. The smell. It…Sydney. Didn’t smell like Sydney. He didn’t smell at all.

 
Realization furiously washed over Ashley. He looked below to the man about to procure a dagger, and he wasted no time.

 
 
 
"You lied to me."

 
"And thanks to you I also broke my word to my own father," Sydney snarled back.

 
Ashley had torn back to the inn with Sydney in tow after he’d prevented his murder, so half-blind with anger that he had teleported, not trusting himself on his feet.

 
"Was it wrong of me to save your life? Earlier today you didn’t seem so anxious to die!"

 
Sydney sat down on the nearest bed. "You would not have allowed me to go and see him, if you had known that my intentions had not changed."

 
"That isn’t so," Ashley reproached, stepping up in front of the seated man. Sydney continued.

 
"You forgot my hands. How could you forget the most salient aspect of my appearance? He must have known! He knows I cheated him!"

 
"No father wants his son to die," Ashley said, closing his eyes, suddenly tired, his own words resounding in his callused ears with too much honesty. He stood there for a moment, forcing himself to swallow his ire before he could speak again. "You frightened me."

 
Sydney didn’t look up. "That is what I don’t understand."

 
"What could be so strange about it?" spat Ashley, his e bee beginning to rise. "Can the idea that life is valuable be so foreign to your black heart?"

 
The other man lifted his eyes, but not his face, and glared.

 
"Yes."

 
The ending sibilant of the short, dry word was lengthened with muted, dangerous wrath. "Where did you even get that idea, Ashley? I find it hard to believe that even you can’t see that a life isn’t worth as much as a two-farthing cocksheath to anyone around here!"

 
Ashley set his jaw. The truth of those depraved words had turned his stomach sour. He lowered his head.

 
"I won’t let you die."

 
Sydney scowled. He was silent for several moments, then he stood.

 
"You’ve certainly made that clear. So if you’re going to force me to live, then for the love of all the saints, at least feed me."

 
 
 
Ashley came back with two bowls of chicken broth and potatoes. Sydney seemed to have settled down considerably, although he was still making his displeasure known by glowering at the fire.

 
"Here’s the meal you demanded."

 
"It smells like bile."

 
Ashley sat down on the floor next to him and began to stir his own portion to cooling. "You’re off by a mile. It’s stewed potatoes and chicken stock."

 
"What is it that you want from me?" Sydney asked abruptly.

 
"Assistance."

 
"You know what you will do, then?" came the next careful inquest, as the thin man began to notice his soup.

 
"Not exactly. But I think…I should do something about the Cardinal."

 
"You would assassinate him?"

 
He paused. "I wouldn’t need you for that. And if he were to die, a dozen like him would leap to fill his throne."

 
"Your perception is sure. He’s not your sole adversary."

 
"Something must be done about the church’s supremacy. It wields too much dominion; murders and oppresses too many."

 
Sydney chuckled. "But you forget an important detail: parliament is only a hairsbreadth cleaner. Look at what they’ve done to you. And don’t think the VKP wouldn’t also kill you if they found you."

 
Ashley had not expected to hear this. He had certainly been convinced of parliament’s corruption. Hells, they’d psychologically tortured him. But he was their most decorated agent, after all.

 
"Why?"

 
"Well, mostly because they think you murdered the duke in his bed."

 
"What?!"

 
"I thought that might upset you. Do you want to hear it again?"

 
"How is this!?" Ashley demanded.

 
"He’s been siphoning gold into their personal treasuries for longer than I’ve been alive. They were desperately in love with him. You were las last man seen in his company. And you did depart rather impatiently, not to mention invisibly."

 
Ashley stopped just before he lifted his spoon. "I wonder if Merlose, and your friend and brother are safe. Would anyone be hunting them?"

 
Sydney bristled and let his spoon fall back into his bowl.

 
"John Hardin expired when the sun rose over Leá Monde, after our departure. We were sleeping as he died." He leaned forward again and tasted his dinner, appearing composed and unaffected. But Ashley could see now the dreadful images tearing around in his friend’s mind, felt the blisters they had already formed there. The pain began to also bleed in through to Ashley.

 
"I am sorry. Were you…close friends?"

 
"You’re awfully tenderhearted for a murderer, Riot," Sydney sharply accused, his words dripping venom indecently. He’d been calling Ashley by his given name for days now, and this change to his surname somehow seemed exceedingly offensive and hurtful, almost as much an insult as being called a murderer.

 
And what was worse was that Sydney’s words were altogether true.

 
It felt like a resed aed and harmonious truce had just been broken. Ashley lost all desire to finish eating. He left his bowl on the floor and went to bed.

 
 
 
There was all around him thick silence. It was the kind of stillness that cancels out all memory of sound, negates all other impression. This must be the way it so, he, he knew. What death sounds like. He had to force his senses to notice things other than the silence, because the quiet could be seen and felt and smelled and tasted. But in a few moments his eyes were able to see color, and finally focus.

 
He was standing in a patch of sickly fog. He began to feel chill, damp soil giving just barely under his feet, and he was aware that he was moving. Walking, uphill, on a shallow incline. He couldn’t see where he was going. His footfalls made no noise. He found that he could neither turn his head nor close his eyes.

 
All at once he saw the two stakes, obscenely jutting up from the sooty dirt just ahead of him, pointed and black and bestial. His wife and son were still with death, wickedly skewered on the sharpened poles, the bloodied spikes spearing them up through their anuses and out the roofs of their mouths. Their jaws were ruthlessly broken, their arms draped impossibly backwards over short sticks with wrists bound behind. With a cry drowned in peals of silence he helplessly drew nearer to his wife, her cloud-soft, golden hair twisting down her neck and shoulders in cruel snarls, mingling with coagulated, rust-colored blood. Her eyes had been pulled out.

 
He shot up in bed, his stomach clenching with nausea. He had endured much suffering in his life, and had seen mass rape and war and every kind of vice and cruelty, but never before had he witnessed such depravity. He felt sweat on his face and neck and chest, and he was shaking; when he opened his eyes for a moment he still saw the vulgar, skeletal perversion of his son’s ruined face.

 
But then he noticed firelight. And the warmth of the indoors…and Sydney’s back in silhouette, as he sat before the hearth.

 
He drew himself up out of bed and approached the fireplace. He still felt sick with terror and disgust, but he was already beginning to shut his nightmare back behind him. And more than anything, he silently admitted, he was relieved to not be alone.

 
"Did you have another dream, Ashley?"

 
"I did."

 
He sat down next to the slighter man, taking note that both bowls were exactly where they’d been before, untouched. And Sydney’s bed was still made.

 
"Sydney. Have you not slept?"

 
"I haven’t."

 
He was sitting up perfectly motionless, illuminated in the front with his back swallowed up in inky shadow. He resembled a falcon, carved of gold and trimmed with silver, an imposing sculpted idol shining from the light of the crackling flames. He was beautiful.

 
Ashley wanted to say something, but couldn’t find his tongue. It was Sydney who finally spoke.

 
"Ashley. I have to…apologize. For my harsh words earlier."

 
For some reason it didn’t seem unnatural to hear contrition from Sydney. Ashley never would have considered the possibility of so much as an allusion to it, since Sydney seemed to intimate confidence and infallibility with his every gesture. But he heard it now, and it was not at all unfitting to Sydney’s manner. Rather, it was inexplicably flattering to him. Ashley didn’t know how to respond. And somehow, he still felt wounded by the remark that he was now reminded of.

 
"Why did you say it?"

 
The question escaped unbidden. Sydney did not answer right away, and Ashley began to feel terribly foolish for asking so bluntly.

 
"I wanted to stop you from spying my thoughts."

 
"And why did you kiss me?"

 
Sydney started a small bit, then relaxed. "I’ve done no such thing."

 
"You moved your counterfeit to kiss me. On the rooftop earlier. Why did you do this?"

 
Sydney answered quickly, almost before the question was finished. "The same reason. To stop you." His tone was so uncharacteristically gentle that it was unsettling. Ashley wanted to yell at him, to pin him down and beat him with his fists and scream not to go to such lengths, not to resort to such abusive actions to "stop" him…but he did not want to reveal the extent to which these things had so unaccountably distressed him. He wanted to forget. He knew he ought to go back to bed…

 
"Ashley."

 
He swallowed. "I am here."

 
"My kiss vexes you more than my insult."

 
"It wasn’t yours."

 
Sydney sat up and began to draw nearer, sliding up onto Ashley’s lap, touching the steel fingers of his right hand to the other man’s chin with effortless grace. Shutting his eyes, he leaned in and parted Ashley’s lips with his tongue. Ashley’s blood pounded and his mind swirled, and he was filled with incredulity. And desire. Sydney held their mouths together for close to a full minute before he withdrew to speak.

 
"Please understand, Ashley. I just watched my father die."

 
He fell silent, looked down at his knees, then moved back again to sit where he had been before, facing the fire. Ashley was thoroughly bewildered that Sydney had shown such affection, but it took only a glance back at him to dissolve his uncertainty. He could not deny that he wanted Sydney, that he had for some time now. Since he had first held him, drooping in his own blood, half-dead on the grass. Filled with thirst, Ashley watched him, and it occurred to him at once that Sydney had literally just lost everything.

 
He knew how it felt.

 
"I’m not wroth with you, Sydney. I have forgiven you."

 
He moved and sat down behind the Roodless back with his legs stretched out, and lacing his arms underneath Sydney’s, he pulled backwards along with him until his back rested up against the heel of the bed. Sydney released a quiet sigh as he was held.

 
Ashley knew his arousal was obvious—pressed so tightly up against the small of Sydney’s naked back—but he didn’t care. He pushed back all the reservations that he should have had. He wanted this. He began to stroke the soft, pale sides of the smaller man, whose ribs protruded slightly as he arched in enjoyment. Heady with desire, he felt his breaths coming shorter and quicker.

 
"Sydney."

 
A gasp was his response as he caressed a hardened nipple with his fingertips. He moved his lips very close up against Sydney’s right ear and whispered.

 
"May I touch you, Sydney?"

 
"Yes," the other man hissed in reply, helplessly allowing his head to fall back a little into Ashley’s neck and right shoulder. Taking in a long breath without moving his face, Ashley brought his hands down to unfasten the black strings holding the pants on Sydney’s hips, then slid the garment down to his mid-thighs. He reached one hand down first to hold Sydney’s testicles, and placed his other flat over his silk-smooth cock, pressing it against Sydney’s belly and feeling hot blood coursing into it. It was filled and hard and dripping precome in three heartbeats, pulsing with heat as Ashley rubbed it up and down firmly with his palm.

 
Sydney moaned and thrust up into Ashley’s hand, his fingers involuntarily digging into the dusty wooden floorboards next to his hips. Ashley moved his left arm to wrap around Sydney’s chest, steadying the trembling man as he curled his fingers around his shaft and began a teasingly slow rhythm of easy strokes.

 
Sydney was frantic. He was hissing reflexively, twisting and writhing in Ashley’s arms, his every movement massaging Ashley’s cock through his clothing, provoking him to still greater lust. He heard Sydney’s gasping plea to go ‘harder’ and quickened his motions, feeling the man in his lap tense his whole body with heavy need, losing all shreds of restraint.

 
Ashley caught Sydney in his arms, half-choking with pleasure, and twirled him around, reversing their positions so that they were face to face. Turned away from the fire, he set Sydney down into his lap and grabbed his quivering shaft again, jerking it wildly and rapidly. Sydney, by instinct, threw his arms around Ashley to keep himself from falling, but as his climax began to seize him, he squinted and arched backwards, his head back and mouth open. Ashley gently squeezed his balls and felt them tighten as they gave up to release.

 
Sydney gave a howling, gasping cry as he was overwhelmed by orgasm. The first spurts shot all the way up to his neck and chin, the rest splashing onto his belly. He heaved out a long breath and went limp in Ashley’s arms.

 
Both men were panting shallowly. Sydney gathered himself suddenly and ground his hips against Ashley’s erection, drawing a low, needy groan out from the other man. Without warning he pushed Ashley backwards to the floor and crawled between his legs, bearing them up so that his knees were in the air. He unbuckled Ashley’s belt and eased his short pants down, then pressed a smooth cheek up against his cock before taking its head in his mouth and suckling it.

 
Ashley tensed in surprise and groaned, eyes centered with wonder on the elegant, slender man bowed over him, whose metal fingers were tucked inside the folds underneath his knees. Sydney drew his face up and brushed his lips over the top of Ashley’s erection, then tipped his mouth down to slide his tongue twice over its full length before he at once engulfed it entirely in his mouth and throat.

 
Ashley’s vision sparked and staggered. He was completely thunderstruck, inundated by the soft, electric heat surrounding him as he was devoured. He groaned heavily and moved his fingers behind Sydney’s neck, sliding up to stroke his hair. His hands were shaking.

 
Choking on Sydney’s name, he tightened, arched, and came hard into the warm mouth enclosing him. He forced his eyes open to look down at Sydney, who was swallowing and releasing him from his mouth, letting Ashley’s knees fall as he sat up.

 
Sydney was kneeling, looking over at Ashley. There was semen smeared on his torso. Although his breaths were silent, his chest was heaving quick and full. He looked exhausted, crestfallen. Used up.

 
"Sydney. Come to bed."

 
He took a moment to regather his breath, and then nodded. Ashley rose, stepped out of his clothing, and offered a hand up, which was hesitantly accepted. He helped Sydney the rest of the way out of his pants and waist-cape and led him to their small table, which supported a ewer of water and a clean washtowel. He dipped the cloth in the pool, wrung it out, and wiped the come off of Sydney’s chest, then from his own abdomen.

 
Sydney was still silent, still staring. When Ashley had cleaned them both, he slipped his arms around his companion’s w and and held him, for as long as his strength would endure. Sydney tightened for a moment and then relaxed, winding his talons underneath Ashley’s arms to rest on his shoulders. But after several minutes, Ashley was too exhausted to stand any longer.

 
When they broke apart, he led the smaller man to his bed and climbed in, and Sydney laid himself down halfway on top of him, resting his head just below Ashley’s neck.

 
It was difficult for Ashley to believe that these things had actually transpired; and equally unbelievable that Sydney, metal-garnished, could be so soft. He was amazed to find himself content. And surrounded by a thin wool blanket, the two men slackened and slept. It could have resembled peace.

 
Ashley did not dream.