couldn’t tease him about this.
“I want to show you.” John kissed Ravishan deeply this time. Ravishan’s hungry response coursed through John’s whole body.
John only broke away to hurl his heavy coat aside, and Ravishan followed his example, throwing off his coat and rough cassock. John caressed Ravishan’s hard, scarred chest, marveling at how he could be so beautiful, despite his history of so much hurt.
Ravishan flashed one of his broad, joyous smiles.
“You have the most handsome smile, you know that?” John told him.
“I can do more than smile though.” Ravishan kissed him quickly but with an expression of sultry promise.
They both toppled back onto the big white bed.
Ravishan’s hands slipped under his clothes. His fingertips were like fire as they traced the muscles of John’s stomach and slipped down past the waistband of his trousers. A mindless, desperate pleasure flooded John. He flipped open the buckle of Ravishan’s belt. Ravishan gasped as John gently caressed and stroked him. They moved together, graceless passion building to an intimate rhythm that only broke in ecstasy.
•••
The next morning, John woke to feel soft sunlight pouring across his cheek. He rolled deeper into the down blankets, pressing his body against Ravishan’s.
Ravishan’s skin felt warm. John drew in a deep breath, smelling the low woody scent of his skin, their mixed sweat, and sex. Slowly, John opened his eyes. Ravishan still slept. His black hair spilled across the white bedding.
John smiled and gently lifted a lock of Ravishan’s hair. Ravishan mumbled something in his sleep and rolled over. It was good to see him get some rest at last.
Careful not to jostle Ravishan, John propped himself up onto his side. Beyond the sheer bed curtains, he could see the scattered piles of their discarded clothes. His heavy wool coat flopped across a delicate writing table. Ravishan’s gray cassock hung off one of the cherry red carved chairs. John thought he could see the crumpled pale shape of his own underpants lying near the foot of the bed.
They hadn’t drawn the curtains completely closed last night. Now John gazed out the tall windows at the streets of Nurjima far below. At first glance it could have passed for a historic Victorian district of Seattle. Brick and stone houses curled out along circular lanes. Many were enclosed by ornate gates or surrounded by gold and red autumn gardens. A young man in brown trousers and a jacket zipped up the street on a bicycle. But after a few moments, the details of the scene below began to betray its alien nature. The leaves on the trees that lined the brick streets were strangely pale, almost translucent. A pair of dark green tahldi hitched to an exquisitely carved carriage pranced along the red brick street.
A glance to the north utterly destroyed the illusion of familiarity. The massive structure of the Black Tower soared impossibly up from the city. Its dark girders and cables twisted and coiled, converging in a single black spire. Even from this distance John felt the Black Tower’s presence searing the sky. All around it John could feel the deep, ragged open wounds of the torn Gray Space. If he concentrated, he could hear the faint hiss and whisper of the issusha’im as they prophesized endlessly to their master in the tower. John sensed currents of wind that ripped down from the heights of Rathal’pesha.
The Black Tower formed the center point of an immense, open doorway between the northern monastery and the southern convent.
John’s contemplation was interrupted by the sensation of Ravishan’s hand against his bare back.
“Jahn.” Ravishan gently pulled him back down into the blankets. “We don’t have to get up yet.”
John collapsed back into bed. Ravishan’s hands slid down John’s chest. Heat from Ravishan’s fingers lingered as he traced the curves of John’s muscles.
“We can stay in bed all day if we want to.” Ravishan leaned forward
“I want to show you.” John kissed Ravishan deeply this time. Ravishan’s hungry response coursed through John’s whole body.
John only broke away to hurl his heavy coat aside, and Ravishan followed his example, throwing off his coat and rough cassock. John caressed Ravishan’s hard, scarred chest, marveling at how he could be so beautiful, despite his history of so much hurt.
Ravishan flashed one of his broad, joyous smiles.
“You have the most handsome smile, you know that?” John told him.
“I can do more than smile though.” Ravishan kissed him quickly but with an expression of sultry promise.
They both toppled back onto the big white bed.
Ravishan’s hands slipped under his clothes. His fingertips were like fire as they traced the muscles of John’s stomach and slipped down past the waistband of his trousers. A mindless, desperate pleasure flooded John. He flipped open the buckle of Ravishan’s belt. Ravishan gasped as John gently caressed and stroked him. They moved together, graceless passion building to an intimate rhythm that only broke in ecstasy.
•••
The next morning, John woke to feel soft sunlight pouring across his cheek. He rolled deeper into the down blankets, pressing his body against Ravishan’s.
Ravishan’s skin felt warm. John drew in a deep breath, smelling the low woody scent of his skin, their mixed sweat, and sex. Slowly, John opened his eyes. Ravishan still slept. His black hair spilled across the white bedding.
John smiled and gently lifted a lock of Ravishan’s hair. Ravishan mumbled something in his sleep and rolled over. It was good to see him get some rest at last.
Careful not to jostle Ravishan, John propped himself up onto his side. Beyond the sheer bed curtains, he could see the scattered piles of their discarded clothes. His heavy wool coat flopped across a delicate writing table. Ravishan’s gray cassock hung off one of the cherry red carved chairs. John thought he could see the crumpled pale shape of his own underpants lying near the foot of the bed.
They hadn’t drawn the curtains completely closed last night. Now John gazed out the tall windows at the streets of Nurjima far below. At first glance it could have passed for a historic Victorian district of Seattle. Brick and stone houses curled out along circular lanes. Many were enclosed by ornate gates or surrounded by gold and red autumn gardens. A young man in brown trousers and a jacket zipped up the street on a bicycle. But after a few moments, the details of the scene below began to betray its alien nature. The leaves on the trees that lined the brick streets were strangely pale, almost translucent. A pair of dark green tahldi hitched to an exquisitely carved carriage pranced along the red brick street.
A glance to the north utterly destroyed the illusion of familiarity. The massive structure of the Black Tower soared impossibly up from the city. Its dark girders and cables twisted and coiled, converging in a single black spire. Even from this distance John felt the Black Tower’s presence searing the sky. All around it John could feel the deep, ragged open wounds of the torn Gray Space. If he concentrated, he could hear the faint hiss and whisper of the issusha’im as they prophesized endlessly to their master in the tower. John sensed currents of wind that ripped down from the heights of Rathal’pesha.
The Black Tower formed the center point of an immense, open doorway between the northern monastery and the southern convent.
John’s contemplation was interrupted by the sensation of Ravishan’s hand against his bare back.
“Jahn.” Ravishan gently pulled him back down into the blankets. “We don’t have to get up yet.”
John collapsed back into bed. Ravishan’s hands slid down John’s chest. Heat from Ravishan’s fingers lingered as he traced the curves of John’s muscles.
“We can stay in bed all day if we want to.” Ravishan leaned forward
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