loved the feel of water over his body. What a wonderful place this was, to have such
luxury. Water was scarce and carefully used in his country, and one did not have showers, only
quick sit baths with an inch or so of water. This was sheerest heaven.
He turned to thank his master for letting him outside, but the words froze in his throat, and
he felt his pulse quicken at the sight before him.
Nude and wet, Vanyae came toward him with the tread of a predator and eyes that
mirrored that, dark with lust.
Anyar took a deep breath, unable to help admiring the prince. He was as beautiful as any
statue, broad shouldered, narrow hipped, skin pale as marble. His hair hung down his back,
wetting to a beautiful, rich gold, his wings gradually darkening with moisture. The water ran
down his form, lovingly caressing every inch of muscle and bone, and Anyar found himself
wanting to taste.
He took a step forward, looking into Vanyae's eyes for permission before sliding to his
knees and immediately reaching for that beautiful, big shaft. He licked at it for a moment, one
hand tightening around the prince's thigh as Vanyae jerked at the sensation, a low, growling
moan issuing from his lips. For once Anyar felt proud of his training as he licked and nibbled his
way up the hard flesh, felt it throb and jerk under his ministrations.
Eager for the sweetness within, he dipped his tongue into the slit and suckled there for a
moment, feeling his master tremble, his breath hard and erratic.
He let his lips encircle the head, tongue lapping the tender flesh, then suddenly swallowed
the length almost to its entirety.
Vanyae gave a sharp cry, his hips flexing involuntarily. That his little slave was doing this
willingly, even eagerly, was the most erotic thing he could imagine, and he had to fight against
coming right then and there. Not yet. There was so much more he wanted to do to the younger
man. Gently, so as to not hurt his healing injuries, but gods, he could wait no longer!
When he could take no more, he reluctantly pulled Anyar from his knees and up to stand
against him. With hands shaking with eagerness and anticipation, he worked to remove the
sodden clothing, to reveal the golden skin beneath, so different from his own paleness. He drew
Anyar to him, taking the other man's lips in a passionate kiss, using his tongue to taste every
66
J. C. Owens
nuance within. Anyar put his hands tentatively on the prince's shoulders, then more firmly as
emotion and senses took over, drowning out thoughts and fears.
Vanyae's hand stroked down the leanly muscled back, coming to tease the entrance to
Anyar's body, feeling the coolness of the rain against the heat of that secret place.
He brought the fingers back up, presenting them to his little slave, who took them into his
mouth eagerly, wetting them copiously.
The slick fingers then slid easily within the heat and softness of Anyar's body, and he
arched at the pleasure/pain, a choked cry escaping into his master's mouth.
Vanyae drank in the sound, groaning at the feel of Anyar writhing against him, the
tightness of his portal, and the knowledge that soon he would be within that heat, possessing,
reclaiming what was his.
He broke the kiss reluctantly, smiling a little as he drew his fingers free and Anyar
protested with a whimper of need. Pulling the smaller man after him, he approached a marble
bench surrounded by the softness of grass. Here, he arranged Anyar on his knees, bent over the
coolness of stone, the younger man's fingers gripping the ornate edges in preparation for his
master's force. His black wings spread out over the white marble, and Vanyae stroked them,
leaned down to kiss the feathers.
But here, Vanyae broke with tradition. When he knelt behind Anyar, he took his time
kissing and stroking the wet body before him, bringing his little slave to a fever pitch of need.
Each touch was an affirmation that Anyar was alive, that he was
luxury. Water was scarce and carefully used in his country, and one did not have showers, only
quick sit baths with an inch or so of water. This was sheerest heaven.
He turned to thank his master for letting him outside, but the words froze in his throat, and
he felt his pulse quicken at the sight before him.
Nude and wet, Vanyae came toward him with the tread of a predator and eyes that
mirrored that, dark with lust.
Anyar took a deep breath, unable to help admiring the prince. He was as beautiful as any
statue, broad shouldered, narrow hipped, skin pale as marble. His hair hung down his back,
wetting to a beautiful, rich gold, his wings gradually darkening with moisture. The water ran
down his form, lovingly caressing every inch of muscle and bone, and Anyar found himself
wanting to taste.
He took a step forward, looking into Vanyae's eyes for permission before sliding to his
knees and immediately reaching for that beautiful, big shaft. He licked at it for a moment, one
hand tightening around the prince's thigh as Vanyae jerked at the sensation, a low, growling
moan issuing from his lips. For once Anyar felt proud of his training as he licked and nibbled his
way up the hard flesh, felt it throb and jerk under his ministrations.
Eager for the sweetness within, he dipped his tongue into the slit and suckled there for a
moment, feeling his master tremble, his breath hard and erratic.
He let his lips encircle the head, tongue lapping the tender flesh, then suddenly swallowed
the length almost to its entirety.
Vanyae gave a sharp cry, his hips flexing involuntarily. That his little slave was doing this
willingly, even eagerly, was the most erotic thing he could imagine, and he had to fight against
coming right then and there. Not yet. There was so much more he wanted to do to the younger
man. Gently, so as to not hurt his healing injuries, but gods, he could wait no longer!
When he could take no more, he reluctantly pulled Anyar from his knees and up to stand
against him. With hands shaking with eagerness and anticipation, he worked to remove the
sodden clothing, to reveal the golden skin beneath, so different from his own paleness. He drew
Anyar to him, taking the other man's lips in a passionate kiss, using his tongue to taste every
66
J. C. Owens
nuance within. Anyar put his hands tentatively on the prince's shoulders, then more firmly as
emotion and senses took over, drowning out thoughts and fears.
Vanyae's hand stroked down the leanly muscled back, coming to tease the entrance to
Anyar's body, feeling the coolness of the rain against the heat of that secret place.
He brought the fingers back up, presenting them to his little slave, who took them into his
mouth eagerly, wetting them copiously.
The slick fingers then slid easily within the heat and softness of Anyar's body, and he
arched at the pleasure/pain, a choked cry escaping into his master's mouth.
Vanyae drank in the sound, groaning at the feel of Anyar writhing against him, the
tightness of his portal, and the knowledge that soon he would be within that heat, possessing,
reclaiming what was his.
He broke the kiss reluctantly, smiling a little as he drew his fingers free and Anyar
protested with a whimper of need. Pulling the smaller man after him, he approached a marble
bench surrounded by the softness of grass. Here, he arranged Anyar on his knees, bent over the
coolness of stone, the younger man's fingers gripping the ornate edges in preparation for his
master's force. His black wings spread out over the white marble, and Vanyae stroked them,
leaned down to kiss the feathers.
But here, Vanyae broke with tradition. When he knelt behind Anyar, he took his time
kissing and stroking the wet body before him, bringing his little slave to a fever pitch of need.
Each touch was an affirmation that Anyar was alive, that he was
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