Escape from an Ancient Civilization Ch 137

Chapter 137

The only light inside came from a dim lamp and the moon, yet somehow the spot where Nataek stood was lit unnaturally bright.

Medeus, aware of Nataek’s fluster, still did not release him. When Nataek tried to slip out through the right, he blocked him by dropping his right arm; when he tried the left, the left arm lowered to deny him. Nataek’s pupils trembled faintly.

“Why are you doing this?”

“…Teresi.”

“Yes?”

The way Nataek had behaved all day finally stirred what Medeus had been forcing down in his chest. He had not forgotten this was a den of Guti. He had crossed blades with them with life and death at stake. Yet Nataek handled a large soldier as one might a child—or, more exactly, as one would a lover to be guarded.

“Damn it… ‘Medeus. Over here.’

‘It might be better if I handle the kunga. Hand me the reins.’”

On the road to Ur, and again in the market. He could not count the times his heart had pounded at that gentleness and poise.

“Will you… move your arms, please.”

But Medeus’s solid arms did not budge.

“Medeus. Your arms, please…”

At Nataek’s fingertips, pushing at his forearm, the fluster was clear. Every time Nataek reacted to him like this, Medeus had to repress the urge to pull him close. His heart would leap—what if, perhaps… But the swelling feeling fell like a stone.

“‘I… must attend you as my master, Medeus. For now, that is all I can say…’

‘You must attend me… Is there a reason it has to be that way?’

‘…I’m sorry.’”

I don’t know what I am to you.

Medeus had no idea how to take Nataek’s responses. Even so, his feelings for him only grew.

If you don’t push me away, it feels like you care for me too. But at the decisive moment, you always raise an invisible wall.

It was a wall keeping Medeus out—and also a ward Nataek raised to restrain himself. Medeus knew those lines better than anyone, and he had learned how to cross them. When he wanted to enter Nataek’s inner space, he always used the same method.

“Ur is dangerous. For what’s to come, I want your blessing.”

“Ah. A blessing.”

Nataek immediately wore a troubled look. From above, Medeus saw the neat brows, the straight, unbroken bridge of the nose, the firmly set lips, the faintly pinched eyes. Every time Medeus proposed a blessing, Nataek made that face—and after a long hesitation, matched his rhythm anyway.

“Understood. A blessing… It is needed. In Ur more than anywhere…”

Even as he answered, his ears flushed red. Medeus took the hand braced on the wall and brought it to Nataek’s ear, softly stroking the delicate rim; Nataek’s shoulder flinched. The motion felt like a spark to the wick in his chest.

In Uruk, boys of sixteen received sex instruction. Even if Medeus was shunned, the basic rites spared no one. He knew how to warm and release a woman, how to open a closed body, how to drive into the inner places—he had learned all the theory.

But even for simple pleasure, he had never put it into practice; he had never met someone who made him want to. The first time he felt that urge for Nataek, it had startled him.

“Please… give me your hand.”

Nataek gently tugged at his forearm. The man who brought his hand up and kissed the back of it looked lovelier than any woman.

“If you would lower yourself a little…”

At the small gesture guiding his shoulder, Medeus obediently bent.

Has anyone else been this close to you? How many have you kissed? How many have seen you flush like this?

Medeus wished he alone might know these reactions.

If I bare this desire, you’ll run.

So he had held himself back. He meant to go on holding back. But at some moment, he could no longer hide it.

Nataek’s lips touched Medeus’s cheek—first the left, friction soft, then warmth on the right. Shielded by the excuse of a “blessing,” Medeus’s request was not refused.

You give me your body… yet you won’t take me in. Why? Because I’m a man? If so, you should refuse this too. Do you feel nothing? What am I to you? How can I make you mine?

Suddenly Nataek’s face was directly before his. The tips of their noses brushed, and then soft flesh pressed his lips. Nataek’s kiss came deftly; Medeus felt a pang. Nataek was not clumsy—he worked inside his mouth with practiced ease. This softness was not learned from theory. It had been learned by the body.

I’m angry. You let others take you, enough to become this skilled… but you won’t take me.

Their lips meshed deeper. As they pressed softly—

“Mm—!”

Medeus gripped his smooth cheek hard and forced his mouth open, shoving his tongue in as he drove Nataek backward. He thrust to the throat; Nataek’s eyes flew wide.

“Mm—mmph…!”

Disliking even the push at his shoulder, Medeus closed the gap further. Nataek’s back and head tipped down. Refusing him any space, Medeus ignored the muffled sounds and kept pressing, ravaging his mouth. He didn’t care if saliva spilled.

But when he remembered that the spillage belonged to Nataek, a greedy thought flashed. He tore his lips away and licked up the viscous line running down Nataek’s jaw.

“Haa… Me—Medeus. What… what are you…”

Ragged with jealousy at an unseen rival—and hurt that Nataek would not receive him—Medeus could not steady his heart. He sealed their mouths again; this time his hands slid down—gripped the hard flank, swept lower, lower. His big hands clamped Nataek’s thighs and hoisted. Nataek’s body rose into the air.

“I’ll fall!”

The heat in Nataek’s cheeks cooled to shock. Ignoring it, Medeus turned with him. With no wall to brace, Nataek had only his broad shoulders; instinctively he looped his arms around Medeus’s neck and his legs around his waist. As if waiting for that, Medeus cupped him under the buttocks. Lifted so, the hem beneath Nataek’s skirt lay unguarded.

“Kiss me.”

Medeus’s voice boiled. Callused hands kneaded the soft swell of Nataek’s flesh, making his shoulders twitch. Even so, Nataek obeyed without protest—sealed their lips, drew in the upper and lower lip, sucked them gently. Each motion brimmed with tenderness. But it could not sate Medeus. Without warning, he slackened the arm supporting Nataek.

“—!”

Startled, Nataek tightened his legs at Medeus’s waist, hiked his hips using Medeus’s shoulders as a brace. But Medeus immediately seized the sleek thighs and dragged him down again. When Nataek’s lower parts brushed a strange mound, he jerked up; Medeus pulled him down once more.

Over and over—shff, shff—the fabric rasped. The more Nataek rose and fell, the higher the hill seemed to grow. Even as he kissed, he finally broke away, unable to bear it.

“Medeus! P—put me down!”

“…No.”

He refused at once. For all that Nataek never once showed anger, accepting everything—he would not open his heart at the crucial point. It rankled.

Still holding him, Medeus carried him to the bed. He laid Nataek down beneath him; the bedding thumped. Nataek’s chest heaved; his face, flushed as if stained with Medeus’s lust.

You… You want me too, don’t you?

Medeus gazed at him, starving. Lips glazed with spit, cheeks aflame, eyes heavy with heat. You’re stirred by me. So what blocks you? What keeps you from coming to me? Teresi. Do you not want me?

“Medeus…?”

Medeus’s staring eyes drifted closed. Then he kissed him again.

I could throw everything away for you. If I have you, nothing else matters now. Is it not the same for you?

He tried and tried to read the unreadable. No answer came.

His rough hands stroked the outer lines of Nataek’s thigh. The touch, and the urgent crash of mouth on mouth, swept Nataek’s reason away. In that flicker where Nataek let go, Medeus slipped into place between his legs.