The only thing more entertaining than being accused of murder is seducing the innocent.
Rak stared at Jisten with a great deal of interest and barely controlled desire. “Perhaps you could take me, instead?” There was a hint of a plea in his voice.
“Whas’ difference?” Jisten asked, and Rak knew that the man was completely clueless. Stoned on morphea and clueless. Jisten hit the dry spot and made a noise of triumph.
Rak kissed him again. A small part of him wondered if this would qualify as rape, but that voice was drowned out by the immediate need of the moment. Jisten dropped the oil vial, put his arms around Rak, and kissed back. When the kiss broke off, Jisten traced the edges of Rak’s wings and babbled. “Could be your Valer. Makes sense. You’re in th’ palace. I’m in th’ palace. You’re military. I’m military.” He stroked his fingers gently down Rak’s wing spars.
Rak studied the captain, enjoying the sensation of his hands on his wings. The man was talking too much, so he kissed him again. The return kiss was shy, inexperienced, but the hands continued stroking his wing. “My back itches,” Rak murmured.
One of Jisten’s large callused hands moved to Rak’s back and scratched the wing bases. The other continued to explore his sails and spars. Rak moaned in pleasure and pressed against Jisten, inhaling the man’s odor deeply, compounded of maleness, sweat, dried blood, dust, horse, leather, steel, and oil. He found it irresistible.
Jisten shifted, apparently surprised at Rak’s reaction to the scratching. He ran his fingers the length of the right wing to the tip. He repeated this procedure on the left wing, and Rak’s back arched, pushing his wings more firmly into Jisten’s hands.
Rak kissed his way down Jisten’s chest and belly, hands sliding over the firm swells of Jisten’s backside, taking the thin shorts down with them.