Hammer & Air (3 page)

By the time Hammer walked up, looking like a god with the sun at his back, I’d made a parchment bowl from a page of my notebook, and set up a farewell picnic I hoped he’d never forget.

I found I couldn’t look at him as he neared. If we were just there to fuck and be done with, I probably could have managed, even shirtless and vulnerable. But it had come to mean summat more in the past days—his hand on my hip, our promises that it be only us—this would have meant something.

His shadow fell over me, and I fidgeted with the blanket. “You don’t look happy.” It were a question, sure as any.

“I have to leave,” I mumbled to my fidgeting hands. “A new master at the printers. He wants me. I can’t….” Desperation made me look at him. “I won’t be his.”

Those strong, blunt fingers came to grasp my chin, and he thumped abruptly to his knees. “He did this?” His voice sounded like flint tumblers, being struck in a lock.

I swallowed and nodded. “I won’t stay there,” I rasped. “And the orphanage won’t keep me, if I don’t have a place. I know it’s only two months ’til your majority, Hammer, but I can’t….” I looked away. “I’m sorry. I wish I could stay for you, but I can’t be in the same town…not with him.”

A growl then. “You’re mine. I’ll go back after dark. Get your things. We’ll leave together.”

I were shocked. Thrilled, but shocked. “Hammer, you’re two months from freedom. You’ll have a share in the smithy. You’ll have your own flat! Why would you want to leave that?”

He scowled. “You want to go off alone?”

I ducked my head and looked at my bare arms. I had two changes of clothes back at the orphanage, and some blankets at the very least, but that weren’t what I were thinking about when I answered. “No.”

He grunted in return, because that were all we needed to say on the matter I guess.

“Did you ice your eye?”

I nodded, and held up my sodden shirt. He took it up and folded it into a pad, and pushed it up against the worst of the swelling, then pressed my hand against it. Our eyes caught. I’m sure my left one were filled with blood, but that’s not what he seemed to see.

Me neither.

“Are the berries for me?” he asked quietly, his hand not leaving mine.

“They’re your favorite.”

He nodded, and the corners of his mouth turned up in what may have been a smile. “Thank you. I’ll eat them then.”

He ate them, and then gave me the soft portion of the bread and cheese I’d brought. We ate quietly, concentrating on little things. The way he needed to taste his fingers after every berry drew my explicit attention. He seemed fascinated by the crumbs I left on my lips. More than once his thumb came out to brush them off.

The food were gone eventually, and that thumb came out again and rubbed softly against my lower lip, the side not swollen. For once, he managed to not touch the painful thing, and I accepted his caress without having to pretend he hadn’t hurt me with misplaced tenderness.

“You’re still mine, Eirn,” he said into the westering gold of the afternoon. “You want to be made mine before I go round up our gear?”

Oh gods. “More than anything.”

His lips on mine were soft. I would find later that they were not always so. Mostly he were a hard kisser, as he had been four days ago, but he didn’t want to hurt me this night. Not the only reason, but the only one I knew at the time.

I were not wearing a shirt, so it were an easy thing for him to push me back against the blanket and assert himself over my body. He were very tactile. My skin had to be palmed, or explored with questing, rubbing fingers. His mouth went
everywhere,
and he learned the taste of my neck as different from my clavicle, as different from the dip in flesh down the center of my chest. As he tasted, I ran my hands through his hair and tried to hold still so he could explore.

I failed.

His mouth, hot and urgent, closed over my nipple, pale as sand, and he suckled on the thing, flat as it were. It were like a taut string attached to my cock were plucked, and my back arched, and I moaned under him.

“Hurt?”

“No.” My voice were thin, and my hips were undulating against the dark wool blanket. He put the flat of his hand against my stomach and pressed until I held my hips still, but I could not stop the trembling in my body, or the way my hands jerked as I put them on his shoulders, his neck, anywhere, as long as I were touching him some more. He hadn’t taken his shirt off yet, and I wanted him to…
yearned
to see his chest, powerful and glistening in the late afternoon sun, but he wouldn’t let me pull at it when I tried.

He looked up and caught my eyes, and then took my hand in his. “Easy.”

“Hammer… Hammer, I want… oh gods… I don’t….”

His lean mouth curved a little. “Easy.”

It were enough. Some of the urgency, the twitchy pain of arousal, faded and were replaced by trust. He pulled my trousers down around my hips, and for a moment, my thighs tightened. In the dorm, while Hammer had ignored the other boys, simply taking his nudity for granted in a group of growing young men, I had perfected the art of leaving my shirt on until my trousers were changed and vice versa. He were going to expose my body completely to the sunlight, and I were… were….

He pulled the trousers down to my feet and pulled my short boots off, then took the whole works down. I crossed my thighs to try to cover myself, but his warm palm against the soft flesh of my inner thigh put a stop to that.

“Can’t taste like that,” he explained.

“But I’m… I’m naked.”
And pale. And not as beautiful as you.

“Shh.” He scooted up to my middle then and propped himself up on his elbow. His flat palm skated on my thighs again, and then my lower stomach, and he lowered his mouth to lick the crease of my thigh.

My cock jumped against my stomach and my hands sought out the silk of his hair. I clenched it and then massaged his scalp, and he moved under my touch like an animal seeking pets, so I kept it up.

The third time he kissed my stomach when I thought he’d been going to touch my cock, I whimpered, and he grinned wickedly up at me.

“I’m dying to taste it,” he confessed, nuzzling it with his nose.

“Then why…?”

“Are you crazy with wanting?”

“
Yes!
”

“Good.”

With that he opened his mouth and engulfed me, all the way down to the root, and I shook with the force of absolute desire that swept me.

“
Auuughhh!
”

He kept me in his mouth, though, and sucked in, hard, and my hands flailed, finally finding purchase on his wide, hard shoulders as he wrapped his forearm around my backside and clenched me to him.

“Oh gods… Hammer… Hammer… oh… gods… it feels….” That were me, always trying to put words to something for which there were no words.

His fist came to stroke my base and his mouth kept working on the head, paying special attention to the place the foreskin attached to the underside. My eyes went blind, and the little part of my brain that always seemed set to record an experience in careful notes turned to gray scale and fireworks. I thrashed helplessly under his hands and his tongue, and he stayed, solid as iron, pleasuring me with a systematic and immutable single-mindedness that rendered me brainless and shouting with arousal.

He simply let me thrash, holding my hips solidly in place until the wind roared in my ears, and my cock erupted and I screamed into the emptiness of a summer meadow.

He held my spend in his mouth for a minute and then spat it into the hand he’d held under my hips. Cupping the liquid in the one hand, he let go of my cock and used the other to spread my thighs. I were still panting and dazed, and I must have made a sound of protest as he spread my arse cheeks and probed my entrance with all the absorption I’d shown to my two flats of earth in the months prior.

“Listen,” he said gruffly, and even in the haze that still set my limbs trembling, I could hear the strain in his voice. “I want you. I want to fuck you. If you’re not ready it will hurt. I’m not patient, ken?”

I nodded, wanting to reach out and hold him, even wanting to pleasure him as he’d pleasured me. But he were Hammer, and he were powerful, and once he’d swung, it would take a force of the gods to stop him. I were liquid from sex and come; I were hardly a force of the gods.

I spread my thighs and put my own palms on my stomach to force myself to keep my hips still. He probed my entrance gently, and then poured the spend over it, probing and stretching all the while. My cock started to fill, but only part way, and I had to fight to hold myself, exposed and open like this, while he made me ready. His finger burned inside me, and then I loosened a little, and then the burning felt good.

“You bring the olive oil?” he asked, and as he sat up on his knees I could see the great tent in his trousers made by his massive cock. I realized that I had not seen it today, and I yearned to touch it.

I reached out my hand to him, mesmerized, remembering the handsome, glistening purple of it, and the way his spend had hung to the tip like cream.

He grunted and batted my hand away. “Next time.”

My hand fell limply, and I were content. There would be a next time.

He found the bottle with the olive oil, and the stretching around my arsehole assumed a new feel, and soon I were grunting and squirming under his touch as I had been earlier. Suddenly he knelt studiously, and placed the flat of one hand on my stomach while his other hand disappeared between the cleft of my arse.

Two fingers breeched me, travelled smoothly along my insides, and then….

“Oh holy gods,” I breathed, my whole body shaking to the point of sweat. “What in the seven hells were that?”

Hammer nodded and did it again, and now words deserted me, and my prick came to life again, and he scissored his fingers inside me one last time. And only then did he pull his trousers down and let his cock bounce heavily out.

“Tell me if it hurts,” he commanded, but I bit my lip and resolved not to. His cock were leaking fluid already, and I wanted him to get something from this. It felt too good for him to change his mind about “next time.” He positioned himself, huge and broad, and thrust slowly and carefully inside of me.

I bit my lip harder, because the burning… the aching… it were exquisite, but….

I closed my eyes, seeing a rim of fire behind them, and the darkness of his cock as it burned its way into my arsehole, and then, when I thought I’d have to cry out because I was too much of a coward to keep the pain inside… then…

“Ahhhhhh….”

Both of us sighed in tandem, because his head had popped into me, and it were only my arse, clenching around his shaft, and it were full but not painful, and he….

I looked up and saw he were sweating with the effort of going slow, making it good, and I raised my hand to him, only able to brush his chest.

“You didn’t….” I gasped, because he started to move, and his whole body shook with the force of holding himself back. I remembered that look, that look of concentration that had pulled his jaw back and locked it in place. I remembered my vow that he didn’t have to be careful with me.

“You can’t hurt me,” I said, not sure if it were true or not, but wanting to see him as loose with passion as I had been. “Go ahead, Hammer. Go ahead and fuck me.”

He groaned a little, and pulled back, and then thrust himself in. He barely brushed that bundle of nerves that had set me off with his fingers, and when he felt me shiver beneath him, he fell forward on his elbows, adjusting his angle, and sliding all the way in to the root.

I whimpered. “That’s the place,” I told him. My hands came up to his shoulders, the rough fabric of his shirt crushing under my palms, and I pushed at him, urging him faster. “Hammer, don’t hold back for me.”

And that snapped something, because he didn’t. His hips started to hammer at me, and his cock ploughed through my body roughly. I cried out and wrapped my feet around his hips, shaking harder with the pounding of that place inside my arse, and clutching him to my chest as he plunged against me.

It felt… felt… oh
gods
,
I had not imagined, not when watching the innkeeper’s daughter getting buggered, not when his hand had touched my hips warmly in the dark of the night. I were possessed, completely and utterly, surging around him, lost in the white-blindness of pleasure and of having Hammer
inside of me
, where he seemed to have lived all our lives.

He could not last for long. He had been squirming with arousal even as he’d sucked on my prick, and now that he were buried inside me, it were too much for him to last. He thrust savagely, and I howled for it, and then, too soon, his head threw back, and he howled as he convulsed and spent in my arse.

He collapsed against me, shaking, and I wrapped myself around him and gentled the tautness of his shoulders and the slackening line of his buttocks and thighs.

When our panting eased up, he pulled out and rolled to the side, and the hot spend trickling down my crease and between my thighs were delicious. I took a liberty and rolled up onto my side and over his chest, peering down at him. I insinuated my hand under his shirt and he wiggled his shoulders. I were glad. It seemed he longed for my touch as much as I longed for his.

“We did good, yes?” I asked hopefully, living for the way he grinned with his eyes closed.

“Yes,” he affirmed, and I took another risk and kissed the end of his chin. The slight curve to his lean lips deepened, and that were my reward.

“Where did you learn that?” I asked, suddenly thinking about it. “The thing in my body. Where did you learn that?”

He looked away. “The blacksmith,” he muttered. “He buggered me when I were smaller. I got bigger and knocked him one, and he stopped with that and kept on with the smithing, and we were equal.”

I gaped at him. We’d spent our whole lives in the same bed, and not once… not once…. I racked my brains, trying to remember. Had he come to the orphanage in those days, said something? Acted differently? If Master Will had taken me against my wishes, I would have… trembled, been afraid. Something.

He rolled his eyes and shrugged. “He weren’t brutal about it. He showed me tricks to make it nice. It just weren’t who I wanted, that’s all. I weren’t his.”